


Changing

by leiaurora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, F/M, Falling In Love, Fred Weasley Lives, Friends to Lovers, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, No Ron Bashing here!, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Harry Potter, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiaurora/pseuds/leiaurora
Summary: Three years later, Hermione Granger finds herself halfway across the bridge from who she was to who she will be. The wizarding world has certain expectations of the Brightest Witch of Her Age, the Golden Girl, but could it be enough to just be Hermione? Fred Weasley makes her feel like she lives up to the name.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 35
Kudos: 102





	1. Something's different here

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Please bear with me as this is my first fic in nearly seven years. I know. It's also my first Fremione as I'm a new convert. I have no beta and I'm generally writing this with a glass of wine in my hand so ... squint past any minor flaws! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I usually have at least one chapter past the last published one written, and I'm currently unemployed, so expect updates to be at least bi-weekly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred finds our favorite bookworm bathing in golden light, Harry gets the job at Hogwarts, and life three years after the war is generally pleasant. Exposition, exposition, exposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song to listen to for this chapter: Cody Fry's Photograph. It's the song that started off this whole idea, and it could probably give you a good idea where I'm going with this! 
> 
> (Summary changed 1/18/20 from original "Three years post-Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is feeling a strange sort of longing for something she's missing - but she doesn't know quite what it is yet. It's not her professional life, or her family, so what is this bizarre emptiness she's feeling and why does she suddenly feel whole when she's sitting on that bridge with him?")

“I wish I could take a photograph of you right now,” He said looking down at the bushy-haired girl lounging in the sun like a cat while reading a book. She glanced up at him with confusion on her face, smiled wryly, and turned her face back towards her book. 

“You can, Fred.“

“No, I mean I wish I could take a picture of you with the sun looking just like that and your hair looking just like that.”

“I repeat, you can.” She rolled her eyes but did not look at the boy. He always seemed so intent on interrupting her afternoon reading. “I don’t know why you’d want to, but go fetch a camera and click away.

He didn’t go. Instead, he continued standing there, continued looking at her. After a few minutes, she began to feel itchy all over and looked up at him again. He was still looking.

“Bloody hell Fred, will you quit staring at me?“

“Not until I figure out how to preserve this moment right here.“ He held his hands up, mocking an artist trying to get the right framing. She opened her mouth with the same rebuttal ready on her tongue and he cut her off “–and not with the camera either.“

“All right then, take a mental picture and shove off.“ she shifted uncomfortably on the couch

“There’s something about you this summer, Granger. I haven’t figured out what it is yet, but mark my words I will.“ he pointed his long finger in her face and turned on his heel taking the stairs up to his old room two at a time. She stared after him this time and sighed when he left her line of view, resolving to get back to Jane Austen when his mirror image came bounding through the front door.

“ FRED!” He shouted, “you’ll never guess what’s moving into Diagon!” Instead of following his twin up the stairs George excitedly stomped into the kitchen shoved around in the cabinets for a moment and emerged back into the den.  A distant "What?" sounded from a few floors up, followed by the thunderous sound of feet as Fred began his descent.  George, seemingly just as determined to interrupt Hermione’s afternoon read, plopped down beside the girl prodded her in the arm, and said “Oi, you heard yet?“

“Heard what?“

“Opening up right across from us,” he was crazed and shouted “ A RIVAL JOKE SHOP, FREDDIE!”  Hermione covered her ears and closed her book resolutely; it seemed she wouldn’t be getting any more quiet time this afternoon. Exasperated, she turned her body to face George head-on.

“And why is this a big deal?” She asked. “ It's not like anybody could come close to what you do.

“Aw, hear that Georgie? Ickle Granger believes in us!“ There was Fred again, leaping down the stairs. He barely seemed to touch them, as he was jumping down them three at a time in long strides. Fred too came to sit next to Hermione, but on her other side effectively squashing her up against George like they often did with their sister, Ginny. 

“I might as well, seeing as you gits were the last to close up shop before the war and the first to reopen. I give the new place, hm, two months? Before you run them out of business, of course.”

“Doesn’t matter,–”

“–they’re infringing on our territory,–”

“–can’t let them think for a second they’ve got anything on us!”

As the twins spoke with the same mind, they took turns pushing Hermione to one side and then the other. Wanting desperately to be left alone for a mere few minutes, she dramatically braced her hands on her knees and pried herself from the boys before plopping into the squishy armchair directly across the room from the couch. The boys, of course, made half-hearted noises in complaint before setting their feet, crossed, on the coffee table, and taking over the little space Hermione had vacated. 

Of course, now that she had a seat to herself that nobody else could shove into Hermione still wouldn’t get a moment to herself. A great  _ pop! _ sounded from out in the yard and in stormed Ron and Harry. Hermione could already hear the arguing, even before the door swung open. 

“No, I’m  _ telling _ you, Harry. You say yes to that and you offer yourself up to the curse!”

(“Oooh, the  _ curse!” _ chorused the twins, elbowing each other.)

“Ron, I’m pretty sure the curse had less to do with the position and more to do with, oh,  _ I don’t know _ , the eleven-year plot to murder me?”

“Hermione, tell him about the curse.” All eyes panned to the girl in the chair who was only just daring to open her novel again.

“What curse?” she asked with a sigh.

Her red-headed best friend rolled his eyes, “the  _ Hogwarts _ curse.”

“You might have to be a little bit more specific with that one, Ron.”

“He means the curse on the Defense position,” said Harry, having clearly been engaged in this debate for many hours already.  She shot right up from her chair. Where Harry was feeling apathy for the conversation, Hermione was struck with a sudden burst of eagerness. 

“You got it then?!” She exclaimed, throwing (well, not throwing so much as animatedly placing) the book back on the cushions and running to hug the wild-haired boy. 

“Of  _ course _ Professor Potter got the DADA position,” Fred set his feet down from the table, standing and stepping over George’s still-outstretched legs to offer Harry a handshake even as he was still confined within Hermione’s crushing hug. 

“Yeah, there isn’t a wizard alive  _ more  _ qualified to hunt the baddies of the world now, is there.”  George flashed a grin, popping up to ruffle the new Professor’s hair as Hermione released him. Harry looked a little green around the gills at that suggestion, he always had trouble with accepting so much of the Wizarding World’s praise when he saw his best friend’s contributions as equally important to his own self-sacrifice. He reasoned that his involvement with Voldemort’s downfall was predestined and he had no choice, but that his friend’s voluntary help was the true sacrifice as they could have chosen to stay out of it altogether (Hermione, of course, thought that he was just being modest). Catching the flash of discomfort that rippled through Harry’s features, Fred reached out and hooked his arm around the bookworm’s shoulders, crushing her to his side, only slightly out of noogie territory (but only because the last time he tried she’d set her yellow canaries on him). So he conceded, “‘Cept maybe you, of course, Hermione.”

George smacked his palm to his forehead, “Yeah! After all those years maybe you could’ve been in the running too! How could I forget our Golden Girl?”

“And what about me, then?” Ron looked a little pink, as he tended to do when the twins ran this joke (as they had assumed the  _ official _ position of humbling the Boy-Who-Lived whenever he got “too big for his britches”; or rather whenever the Prophet chose to pedestalize the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Die).

“What  _ about _ you, ickle Ronnikins?”

“Well, I was there all those times too! Why wouldn’t I be in the running?”

“Simple–”

“–the curse, of course!” 

“Don’t want our ickle baby brother at the mercy of the big bad–”

“– _ Hogwarts curse,”  _ the twins finished in tandem.

Of course, Ron had been referring to the rumored curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ever since Dumbledore had denied Tom Riddle the position, it truly seemed to have been cursed as DADA professors only ever lasted one, maybe two years at the most in the position.

“That curse has never been proven, and besides, Harry’s right. If anything there’s not going to be a curse now that Voldemort’s gone. Nobody to interrupt the year halfway through, trying to take over the world.” Though it had been nearly four years since the Battle of Hogwarts, the great losses to the British wizarding community still fell heavily onto the young adults’ shoulders. The room seemed to somber slightly at Hermione’s mention of the name. Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived-and-Lived-Again, would always be especially sobered at the hand he had been dealt in childhood. He was attending regular therapy, Hermione knew – they all attended some sort of therapy now, as young adults with often-crippling PTSD and celebrity faces. Softly, she continued, “Harry, you’ll do great.”

And he would, she was sure of it.

“Yeah, well, I’m rubbish at the current occupation so I suppose anything will be a step up.” Harry brought his hand to his neck as if to relieve the tension. Which, Hermione supposed he must have considering the past few years.

After the Fall, as much of the community had come to call Voldemort’s demise, the Death Eater factions splintered much more easily than anyone would have thought. While he had amassed an impressive army, many of the surviving human recruits had been coerced in some way (be it through blackmail and loss, like Xenophilius Lovegood, or through the Imperius Curse) and fell forward into the light without any hesitation. Others, who had joined the ranks willingly and truly believed in the blood prejudice that Voldemort preached, were harder to round up once they’d started to flee; luckily these numbers were cut by the deaths of so many during the battle, and at the very hand of their unhinged Dark Lord in the strenuous weeks leading to his death. 

During the first year, Shacklebolt took hold of the ministry and personally lead the reparation efforts. Harry, despondent and not knowing what to do next to help those he loved and lost, paid for many funerals out of his own vaults, became the spokesperson for peace, and put his own wellbeing off for so long that when Shacklebolt came to tell him to  _ “Stand down”,  _ he had retreated into Grimmauld place and shut himself away from the world for a whole season. Ginny, of course, was the one to finally pull him out. Ron and Hermione ran themselves raw with worry when he did this, leaning on each other to push through their own PTSD and eventually growing apart romantically once they realized that all they saw in each other's arms was the screaming, and crying, and dust of that hall at Hogwarts. Their split was amicable and understood by everyone who cared about them, but the tabloids had their own story. The sudden absence of the Golden Boy caused a media frenzy that only doubled down on the coverage of his best mates and when their public relationship also disappeared, it had been the red-headed third of the Golden Trio whose image suffered. 

During the second year, Hermione worked closely with Professor Flitwick (“Miss Granger, I do think you can call me Filius now” “Only if you call me Hermione, professor.” “A reasonable request.”) studying memory charms in pursuit of returning herself to her parent’s memories. She moved into the Burrow, staying with her surrogate parents Molly and Arthur who had suddenly found themselves to be empty nesters with Fred, George, and Ron living in the three-bedroom flat above the joke shop and Ginny moving into Grimmauld to be nearer to a slowly healing Harry. Shacklebolt was properly elected into the position of Minister for Magic, and Neville Longbottom returned to his NEWT education under Professor Sprout. Neville’s academic dreams, in turn, inspired Hermione, who had always wished she hadn’t had to spend her final year at Hogwarts… not at Hogwarts, and she began studying for her NEWTS as well through private tutelage (later, Neville would admit it was actually her charms research with Flitwick that inspired him, thus creating what they affectionately call their “tautological academic circle”, which their friends shake their heads at because they have no idea what that means). With Hermione re-involved in her studies, the Golden boys decided that they had better seek out a career path too, as they had no time to consider any before the Fall. Naturally, Minister Shacklebolt offered them an expedited entrance exam to the Auror program, if they wanted, no NEWTS required. Passing handily, Ron and Harry entered the program alongside Ernie Macmillan, Maisy Reynolds, and Katie Bell who had all fought alongside them as members of Dumbledore’s Army. 

While Ron excelled in the position, Harry constantly re-fought the battles of his childhood in training and in the field. He had been the one to catch up to, and duel, a panicked Lucius Malfoy shortly before the Trial of the Malfoy’s. He had been the one to put a calm and willing Draco Malfoy into shackles and also been the one to testify at his trial. He had been the one to recommend the creation of an additional rehabilitation program for the children of Death Eaters who had been dragged along for the ride – a program already in partial development for those who had been coerced or Imperiused against their will as a good-faith gesture that all dark side participants would face justice. Harry had been the one to fight all of the physical battles in the times before, and Harry continued to be the one to fight battles even for those who hurt him in the times after, and though it helped him through the pain he could never escape the flashbacks as long as he worked for the Ministry.

During the third year, Harry resigned from the Auror’s office at the behest of those who loved him. In conjunction with Flitwick, Hermione succeeded in creating a potion imbued with the counter-charm to  _ Obliviate _ , the Forgetfulness Charm she had ended up using so liberally throughout the war. The potion, with regular consumption in prescribed doses, would bring back the memories of those who had the Forgetfulness Charm placed upon them in a slow, and natural way. The counter-charm alone often caused sudden, immediate memory return that often unwound the mind and rotted the senses, a chance that Hermione would never risk on her non-magic parents. In conjunction with the potion and the moderated dose of anti-Obliviate, there was still a degree of failure but at least the potion would not cause irreparable damage. For this discovery, both Flitwick and Hermione received Orders of Merlin, Second Class (making Hermione Order of Merlin Second  _ and _ First Class, the latter received alongside her best friends). 

Also during this year, Harry proposed to Ginny. There wasn’t any pomp, no grand gesture, just the two of them in the living room of Grimmauld Place, fire burning down into embers and the dark golden light making Ginny’s hair appear to be the fire itself freed from the hearth. Harry seemed much lighter after that. George declared that he and Angelina Johnson were in love (Fred put on a big show about his brother stealing what was rightfully his – “I called dibs back at Hogwarts! Respect the dibs!”) and were moving out of the flat he still shared with his twin and younger brother. After a bit of pulled strings between the British and Australian Ministries, Hermione began slowly administering her potion to Wendell and Monica Wilkins, who had only recently begun calling themselves Richard and Jean again (the “Granger” part was still in question).

And now Harry was finally settling down into a future he’s excited about, thought Hermione who had placed the thought in Minerva’s (she decisively could call her former professors by their first names now) head a few months ago but begged that Harry be given a chance to go after it himself first before the Headmistress sought him out. 

“Right, when do you start?” Fred asked, trading a conspiratorial smirk in George’s direction

“Well, August the 1st. A month ahead of students arriving. McGonagall’s said she’ll go through the year expectations with me in-depth as apparently nothing us lot ever learned followed  _ proper curriculum _ ” Harry chuckled, putting the last two words between air quotes.

“Unsurprising, we had rubbish luck with Defense, didn’t we,” Ron agreed. “ _ Almost _ like we had a curse! Kind of a wonder that anyone passed their exams those seven years.”

“Bugger the exams, it’s good you lot knew what to do when things got bad.” 

“Well, Lupin’s year helped a  _ tonne _ . And Snape actually wasn’t  _ horrible”  _ Hermione attempted to reason Fred, “though neither was Quirrell until the back of his head started talking, but at least we almost got through a whole year–”

“Honestly I always forget about first year.” Ron scrunched his nose up.

“–And then of course Harry you got some private lessons from Lupin and Dumbledore that you ended up teaching fifth year.”

“Lupin’s probably the only reason we got our Defense O.W.L.” George recalled.

“More like Lupin was the only reason you  _ wanted _ to try for it. He made the material enjoyable.”

“Hermione Granger, admitting that other classes were…  _ unenjoyable?”  _ Fred mock fainted backward and with a  _ pop! _ George caught him and together they swooned to the floor. 

She rolled her eyes at the display. “No! No. I mean, you can’t tell me that you  _ enjoyed  _ Mad-Eye’s – or,  _ Crouch _ as Mad-Eye. Though I suppose a lot of that year was indispensable in the long run.” 

“Okay, okay, thank you all for the reassuring trip through memory lane,” Harry extended an arm to Fred and yanked him off George, who hung on to Fred and almost toppled them over again. “I get it, I’ll be the most  _ normal _ Defense professor in a  _ decade _ .”

“‘Cept you’re the bloody  _ Chosen One _ , mate. Remember how ‘Mione got over Lockhart at first? Can’t wait to hear all about the twelve-year-old fangirls who’ll remember your favorite color just in case it’s on a test.” The room chuckled. “Oi Hermione, pop quiz,” Ron slung his arm over her shoulders and grinned down at her, “Lockhart’s favorite color?”

“Lilac,” she blurted. Flushing bright pink Hermione stuttered, “force of habit–! I, ugh.  _ Ron _ !” 

“I take it back!” Fred managed while laughing, “You’re the same old Granger after all!”


	2. Her troll bridge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione spends some time in her happy place. Fred finds a foe and searches for a less conspicuous co-conspirator.

Sunday dinner was really the only time Hermione saw all of her family together, that is all of the Weasley’s together. For a brief time after the war, she and Harry lived with Arthur, Molly, Ginny, Ron, and the twins as well as Charlie, Bill and Fleur, at the Burrow. After a few months of everybody under the same roof again (Molly occasionally threatened eternal sadness if her children decided to abandon her so soon after the worst 24 hours of her life), Hermione had grown accustomed to having so many voices and so many siblings. Now, as the only one of them left in the Burrow’s warm embrace, Hermione often found herself lonely. Percy, surprisingly, visited the most. He still felt it easiest to visit without the pounding noise of his siblings simply existing and being present, and after the realization that he had been under an Imperius for nearly three years, Hermione couldn’t blame him for being overwhelmed. Whenever he visited, he always put aside time for a game of chess with her, which she greatly appreciated

Charlie came one Sunday every month now, as the Sanctuary was taking in more rescues than normal (the war had caused great institutions like Gringotts and other strongholds of security to re-evaluate the efficacy of dragon guards if three teenagers were easily capable of escaping on one). Bill and Fleur, however, came every Sunday with Victoire in tow

Fred and George also came every Sunday, of course, but they popped in during the week as well. George often came alone to help his parents maintain the everlasting gnome issue, and Fred popped in to tinker with his dad’s muggle artifacts more often than not (Arthur was still trying to convince him to come into the Ministry part-time under the Misuse department). Fred came more often than George, always finding a reason to stand in the way of Hermione’s natural 4 pm reading light.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny were near always a package deal when visiting the Burrow, nowadays. Ron hardly ever visited with his brothers turned roommates, but always visited after a strenuous day of raids or paperwork at the Ministry, while Ginny and Harry always visited when neither of them felt like making dinner (Ginny, tired from her new position on the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team and Harry, generally exhausted from carrying the safety of the wizarding world on his back for seventeen years). Usually, the two instances coincided and all three would show up together. 

Hermione, to her credit, did leave the grounds of the Burrow. She wasn’t just holed up with her books and makeshift potions lab and charms library, she _did_ actually see her friends in the wild. She spent a few nights a week popping between Grimmauld and the boys’ in Diagon Alley, joining Neville, Luna, Pomona Sprout and, she still thought this was odd for some reason, Minerva McGonagall for a drink or two on a Saturday night at the Three Broomsticks, and generally trying to get on with existing. It was going fairly well, she’d say. Hermione’s friends might say otherwise but she couldn’t find fault in herself for wanting a quiet life after the turmoil of her teenage years. Who wouldn’t want to curl up on a couch and stick their nose into a book about an entirely different world after almost dying in her own countless times? No, there was no fault in it.

And still, the Weasley family Sunday dinners made her want something more. Not that she didn’t like being there, no, quite the opposite. Somehow, the fullness of the house made Hermione feel like there was an emptiness inside her that she couldn’t quite place. At first, she chalked it up to being lost to her parents’ memory, but then they started coming back and the _empty_ was still there. Then she thought it was the lack of academic study, as it had been such a driving force in her life for so long, but when she began her studies on cursed daggers and their wounds ( _Mudblood_ still had not faded from her arm, no matter how skilled the Healer or how strong the salve), and the _empty_ remained. When Hermione voiced her concerns to Ginny, the younger woman had suggested that she should start dating again. It had been some time since she and Ron had split, she reasoned, but why would the dinners have brought this out? Nearly the entire clan had paired off, but only nearly. Charlie was still single, Fred was still single, Ron was still single, and Hermione was still single. Percy had only recently found Audrey, and Fred still joked that he was a traitor.

Then Fleur set her up with Roger Davies and Hermione thought _absolutely_ not that

 _Then_ Ron showed up to Sunday dinner with Maisy Reynolds on his arm and she found herself agreeing with Fred. Traitor!

And so it was down to three. Charlie, Fred, and herself were the only ones left. Charlie was the only one of the three that Molly seemed to _accept_ as being single, however, but maybe that was because she had realized just how many sweaters she would have to knit at Christmastime if all of her kids gave her grandkids in the way that she had given her mother grandkids. So for all intents and purposes, it was just Fred and Hermione left

It was for this reason that Hermione had started taking walks through the countryside on Monday mornings. Molly had a keen sense of when to pounce on the topic of Hehermione’s love life, and she tended to cut hardest on the mornings after. That’s how Hermione found herself the morning after the celebration for the newest addition to Hogwarts, Professor Potter.

She was up to her ankles in alexanders and cow parsley as she waded through the long grass between the Burrow and the ancient public throughway that ran far behind the property, just outside of the Weasley wards. She wore jeans and a simple t-shirt, and a pair of socks with warming charms. It wasn’t cold whatsoever in July, but Hermione had found a habit in being over-prepared, just in case, and besides, she had to keep her focus on her personal wards as she trudged on. 

It had rained overnight, and the soil below the grass was particularly muddy today. The throughway was on the opposite side of the property to the swamp and the ground on this side was more stable, if only marginally so. By the time Hermione emerged from the long grass and felt the Burrow’s wards shimmer and release her person, her jeans were thoroughly soaked in morning dew. She made no attempt to dry herself or vanish the mud.

The bridge stood as normal, surrounded by stalks of fennel and leafy ferns on either side of the stream’s bank. Hermione pushed a particularly large frond and stepped up onto the boards. The stream itself purled happily and sparkled in the early daylight that filtered through the trees. It seemed quite content to have such a regular visitor. The throughway seemed decades out of use, judging by the gentle moss that grew across the Saxon cobblestones that peeked out from the dirt, and Hermione was just fine with that. She was happy enough to have a quiet place and happier still for that place to be in nature, though just close enough to the Burrow she knew she could still see the chimney’s smoke if there weren’t concealment wards.

She sat down at the edge of the downstream side of the bridge, letting her left leg dangle as she leaned back against the railing support and scooting her butt further down until she was sure she wouldn’t bump against the railing when she went to stand. It was wet, but Hermione thought that a little dew through her jeans was the epitome of freedom nowadays.

No reason to vanish the feeling of sitting with the Earth when you weren’t scared of being swallowed up by her anymore

Well, that was generous, Hermione thought. She knew she would always be afraid of Voldemort and his armies. She knew that the atrocities she’d seen over the past ten years would never leave her and that the word carved into her forearm would never let her forget. So to be able to sit in the woods, minimal wards, the wet and the muck seeping into her clothes, and _read_ ? And _breathe_? And not worry about snatchers, or splinching, or where she would find her next meal? Yes, this had to be freedom, and that knowledge enthralled her more than it scared her.

Fred Weasley woke to the midday sun streaming through the roof window above his bed. He’d closed the curtains on the window peering down into Diagon Alley, but he’d forgotten that blasted ceiling hole. He regularly forgot about it. At this point, he thought he should just have it sealed over, but then at night when he could see the moon and the stars from his bed he figured it might be worth keeping around a little while longer

It was George’s solo day downstairs, so Fred saw no issue in making a nice cuppa and returning to sit in bed for a while. He flicked open the curtains with a slight twitch of his fingers and took a sip. “Ah, _fuck_ ,” he exclaimed, and after another twitch of his fingers took another sip. That time the tea was just right.

Out in the alley, Fred could see a gaggle of Hogwarts aged girls skipping away from the shop, a bag or two of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes between them. The corners of his mouth quirked for a second before he saw them dip into the _GRANDLY OPENED!_ shop across the way. The rival shop

“ _Magick, Mayhem, & Mischief. _ Stupid name.” 

But all the same, they had customers and that simply wouldn’t do. Fred stood guard by the window, watching for the girls to come running out as quickly as you could say _Riddikulus!_

But they didn’t. 

So he kept watching and watching, and _finally,_ they emerged. Of course, they emerged with a green shopping bag emblazoned with “M.M.M” that resembled the orange “W.W.W” that Fred and George used. He scowled and finished off his tea in what was almost too large of a gulp. Sputtering slightly, Fred stalked into the kitchen and put the cup to self-wash before throwing on a pair of jeans and an old jersey. He disliked wearing robes anyways, and only tended to favor wizarding clothing for shop events and celebrations. Even on a workday, he and George could usually be found in complementing suits.

That was Hermione and Harry’s doing. They had introduced the whole Weasley family to moving pictures – _films –_ as a way to find a little escapism post-war as a family. One of the first films Hermione had chosen was _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ . (“I _knew_ something about you two was familiar!” shouted Harry, who had only caught glimpses of the movie as a child.) and had thus inspired Gred and Forge into the Willy Wonka manner of silliness their shop had expanded into.

It was easier now to take on the persona of an ever-entertaining madman like Wonka than it was to revert into the easygoing prankster that Fred had been before the war. He knew George felt the relief sometimes too, but on the whole, his twin had fared a lot better on the recovery front than he had. Perhaps that’s because George hadn’t been injured in the Battle. But they hardly dwelled on that anymore, and Fred had regained the use of his legs. (Hermione swore that she wasn’t comparing any one twin more closely to the candyman, but Fred knew who she favored right away when she saw the cane since he had still been quite reliant on one at the time. When his healer had cleared him, he asked her to come by the shop and surprised her with a somersault in the same fashion as the Wonka lad himself.)

Now he was using those legs to thunder down the stairs and into the shop.

“Oi Freddie, it’s not your day! Get out of my territory.”

“It’s my face on the building, George, shove it.” George opened his mouth in rebuttal but Fred hurriedly cut him off, “We’re identical, yes. Have you taken a look across the street at all today?”

“I know, it opened. Shouldn’t be a big deal, Hermione was right, look at it in here.”

George had a point, the shop was packed. It seemed their Hogwarts rush had started early this year, despite there still being four and a half weeks until the beginning of term. This was encouraging to Fred, but those “M.M.M” bags still gave him an inkling that something wasn’t quite right with Magick, Mayhem, and Mischief.

“Right, but have you seen their bags?”

“Their bags?”

“They’re _ours_ , but green! _Green._ How dare they.” George glanced out the shop window, past the throng of customers, squinting to see if his brother was right. And yes, he was. There was another group with green M.M.M. bags. And another. And, oh that one had both _Magick_ _and Wheezes_ bags. The thought crossed his mind. What if they had a copycat on the block? They had made attempts to patent all of their more unique items, but several patents were still in the works for new versions of older stock. What if the new jokester had improved upon the twins ideas themselves and usurped the idea? It could be someone from school, who had access to all of their early prototypes before any patenting had been done.

“Why don’t you go over there?”

“I can’t just waltz into enemy territory. It’s got to be stealthy or they’ll spook.” 

“Right, then, good luck. I’ve got to get back to it.” He clapped Fred on the shoulder and hopped over to help Verity at the counter, a troubled look taking over his face. 

Fred took the stairs back to his flat two at a time and just as quickly as he thought of the plan, he arrived at the Burrow with a _pop!_

“Fred, darling! How nice of you to come see your old mum today”, Molly engulfed him in a great hug. 

“Respectfully, Mum, I’m here for the other witch of the house. Where’s Granger? I need her for a reconnaissance mission.”

“No idea, I was hoping she was off with Ron or Harry. Haven’t seen her at all today, and I know the boys could do with a visit.” Fred threw a glance at the family clock on the wall. _Hermione:_ **_Out_ **, it read. Well, that was helpful, he thought. Molly shrugged, “perhaps she went down to the village again, dear. You might try her there? She’s been talking about visiting the Booksmith quite a lot recently.”

And then he knew exactly where she would be. He kissed his mum on the cheek and _pop!,_ disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we're still in the exposition-heavy portion of the story, it gets better after this I promise! Now you know where these two stand in the world.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. What is "understanding", I don't get it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred finds what he's looking for in Hermione, and grapples with the image of her swathed in golden light.

“ _Miss must pay the toll if she wants to cross the bridge.”_ Hermione nearly tumbled into the water, her head whipping around and back again to catch the intruder

All she found, however, was Fred Weasley standing directly in front of her, doubled over in silent laughter and the sight of her near-misfortune

“ _Fred!”_ Hermione admonished, scrambling to stand and swiping at him with her book. “That. Is. Not. Funny!” She continued attacking him with the book but, Fred noticed, she was laughing alongside him

After apparating to the edge of the wards, he’d followed the path she’d cut through the grass. It was easy to tell that Hermione had been through there, as the grass and little white flowers had been tamped down by boots earlier in the day and were still broken and out of place to the rest of the field. Even if he hadn’t seen the telltale signs, Fred knew that she hadn’t quite made it into town. As soon as his mother had suggested it, he could see her plain as day, sitting on the bridge with the book she had her nose buried in the day before. She came out here often, he supposed, because when he and George had run out here in the years before Hogwarts the throughway was nothing more than mud and in the past few years it had become notably more trespassed. 

Quick and targeted as Hermione’s book assault was, Fred had always been handily talented as a beater and easily dodged the onslaught. He caught her wrists and wrestled the book from her grasp.

“You lost my place!”

“Hardly, you don’t think I know where you were?” He waggled the book in front of her face before unfolding it. “Right here, that’s where you were. Emma has just become engaged to Mr. Knightly. Rubbish name, but that’s where you were.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, doing her best impression of a bass fish (Fred thought it was a rather good impression) “H-how?” She stuttered, taking the book back from his hands and confirming that he was spot on. The exact page. She didn’t think he had the chance to take a look at what she was reading.

“Simple, you had that look on your face. Supremely proud, a little sad, and then you _sighed_. You did the same thing when you read to me at St. Mungos.”

She was shocked that he remembered, though why wouldn’t he have? He was awake and lucid, Hermione just assumed he asked her to read to him as a distraction. It had been a few days before he was released to his family, and he kept going on about how his legs itched under all the bandages and salves. But apparently he had been listening.

“I didn’t think you liked muggle books.

“I don’t, usually, but _you_ do. And you said that the Brontë’s liked her. And they were witches. So, I thought, maybe this won't be bad.

“You listened.”

“I didn’t listen. I observed, there’s a difference.” There really was. He paid less attention to the story and more attention to how Hermione read the story. He watched her eyes take on the emotions that she read about, watched the fire ebb and flow within her soul, watched her fingers turn the pages, heard her breath hitch and hold, heard it release and exclaim. Fred knew that sigh because hearing it marked the first time he’d realized that the little know-it-all his little brother had befriended was, well, not so little anymore. The light coming through the charmed windows had thrown golden streaks across her face and lit up the tendrils of hair escaping from her plait.

To be frank, Fred thought he had been hallucinating until he arrived at the Burrow for the first time since coming off his pain potions and found her curled up on the couch at four pm, silhouetted in golden light. But that was fine. It was no secret that Hermione Granger had grown into quite a striking young woman. Fred was sure other people had noticed too, and that it had become a truth universally acknowledged. Besides, she had been dating his brother the first time he’d seen it, and he reasoned he felt much like an older brother to her himself. 

“Well, thank you for remembering your astute observations.” Hermione smiled and murmured a quick _reducio_ , before tucking the book into her pocket. “I suppose your mum’s looking for me, then?

“Hm? Oh! No,” Fred shook himself out of his memory. It was nearly one o’clock, and though some part in the back of his mind wanted to see her lounged out here in the setting sun, he couldn’t let himself go down that path. “I was. I need your help.

“ _My_ help?” Hermione thought she had made it very clear that she had no desire to get into the pranking lifestyle, though if they ever wanted a little research into a new project she could easily be tempted into a good library visit. “And where are the usual suspects if you’re coming to me?”

“George’s working, and Ron’s a dead giveaway. I need someone who can successfully go undercover.” He reached out and tugged on one of her brown curls.

She batted him away and pushed him in the direction of the path back to the Burrow. “Is this about the other joke shop?” He obliged her direction, walking backward as they spoke.

“ _Magick, Mayhem, & Mischief_. Bloody ridiculous if you ask me. I think they’re skiving off our original ideas. They have our _bags_ , Granger!”

“I– don’t understand what _that_ means,” she chuckled. “But I suppose it gets me out of your mum’s traditional Monday interrogation.” Fred stopped abruptly and she almost crashed into him.

“She’s really still on you for that?” 

“What, she’s not on you?” He shrugged noncommittally, earning a roll of Hermione’s eyes. “Of course not. Honestly, the double standards! Ever the eligible bachelor you are and yet she never gets on your case. Typical.

“And that’s the way I like it.” Fred shot her a stunning smile before turning and marching away from her, picking up the pace as he called back, “You can keep her fuss. I don’t want it.”

Hermione huffed and jogged to keep up with him as they entered the tall grass. Always had to be the center of the action, she thought, always with the dramatics and the long strides. “You know if you ever, _ever_ dare to get with a girl I’ll– I’ll...”

Fred smirked, “you’ll what?

“I’ll get you!” 

He barked out a hearty _ha!_ and made a big show of slowing down until their feet were in synch and he could sling an arm heavily across Hermione’s shoulders.

“Those are fighting words, kid.” and with a _pop!_ He apparated them straight to the edge of the wards and tugged her through.

“Frederick you know I hate when you do that!” Hermione shuddered at the tingling remnants of the unexpected tug behind her navel. “You cut my walk short.

“Yes, well, you were dragging my walk out with those short little legs of yours.”

“Fred, I’m serious. If you ever leave the singles table I’m disowning you.

“Can’t disown me from my own family–”

“Wanna bet?” Hermione winked and suddenly set off in a sprint, headed for Molly’s kitchen. Fred groaned and started after her. She may have short legs, but Hermione knew she was fast, and nimble and could easily outrun him just as long as she didn’t cut the corner too close. She skidded past the corner and had her hand on the door just as Fred grabbed hold of the back of her shirt and made to yank her away. But it was too late, the door was open and Hermione stepped through at a normal pace leaving Fred to reluctantly let her go.

“Oh, there you are, sweet girl! I was wondering where you’d gotten off to this morning.” Molly smiled from her perch on the couch, seemingly splitting her attention between two different knitting projects (a small purple hat for baby Victoire, and what looked suspiciously like a new sweater for Harry’s upcoming birthday; it greatly resembled what Remus wore while teaching, but had gold and maroon thread along the arms). “Good you found her, Fred.” The Weasley matriarch noticed nothing awry with Hermione and Fred’s flushed cheeks. 

“Molly, you’ll never guess what I just found out about our dear Freddie,” the faster witch said as she slowly regained her breath, “he’s been keeping a secret!

“Have I?” said the slower wizard, eying the girl warily. Hermione, though she was easily bluffing (Molly would never find any reason so serious as to disown her children or Percy would have packed it in by now), saw a glint of fear in his eyes. What _that_ was about, she couldn’t be certain but she’d do everything in her power to find out. Having a real hold over a Weasley twin was nothing to handle lightly. The only one who ever seemed to be able to control either man was Angelina, and that was because George risked nothing Angelina offered him. To have blackmail on Fred was to find the Holy Grail.

“Oh, guess not. Sorry, Molly, nevermind!” Hermione smiled sweetly and skipped upstairs, seeking out a change of clothes as she’d never _scourgify_ -ed the outfit she was wearing and the mud was beginning to crust over.

“Whatever you two are on about, I have no clue.”

“Trust me, mum, I can’t imagine she knows any of my secrets.”

“So you _do_ have a secret from me, then?”

“Huh? Oh, I think I just heard Hermione calling.” He shuffled towards the stairs in an attempt to flee. “I’d better go see what she– WAIT UP, GRANGER! MUM’S GIVING ME THE THIRD DEGREE!” 

And _pop!_ he was gone

“Oh! Geez!” He had reappeared inches from Hermione. “Get out, I’m all mucky.”

Fred obliged, standing just outside the closed door of Ginny-Turned-Hermione’s room. He could hear her kick off her trainers, and the dull _thud_ of her jeans hitting the floor. Then there was the rumble of the dresser, the _click_ of the trunk, and suddenly the door was flung open and Hermione was welcoming him back in.

“I don’t have _any_ secrets to hide, little miss.” He plopped himself right down on the bed, which she loathed as he was just as filthy as she had been.

“I don’t know Fred, have you?”

“You can’t possibly have anything on me.” She couldn’t, Fred reasoned with himself, she couldn’t! He had no secrets to hide. No mum-based pranks, no secret Wheezes expansion (though they were considering buying out Zonko’s in Hogsmeade), no secret trysts. Well, no physical trysts. His imagination had been running somewhat buck wild recently. When she hadn’t answered him in a moment, he turned his gaze onto her and made eye contact. She had just been staring at him, sizing him up. _No,_ she absolutely couldn’t have anything.

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing. Well, _nearly_ nothing. It … might be something.” 

There was a twinkle in her eye that made him nervous. 

“What do you have on me, Granger?'

“Guess you’ll have to weasel it out of me somehow, Weasley. Now how can I help you spy on those _Magickal, Mayem_ _causing,_ and _Mischievous_ cheats?”

 _Oh_ , he realized.


	4. Like we're at the kid's table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter turns twenty one, and Hermione feels overwhelmed. Fred whisks her away to the bridge for some reassurance.

“ _For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow, that nobody can deny!”_

Harry Potter’s twenty-first birthday party was in full swing. The Burrow was packed with people, holding glasses of champagne and wine, bottles of butterbeer, and the occasional tumbler of firewhiskey. While Harry always wanted more of a familial affair, he had compromised with Ginny this year and agreed to a slightly larger gathering. Hermione and the Weasleys were all in attendance, of course, and the Hogwarts professors had come to visit as well. Minerva and Pomona were in the corner with Teddy and Victoire, transfiguring their toys into little butterflies and birds making the toddlers scream out in joy. Charlie had engaged himself in conversation with Horace Slughorn, who was very interested in the Romanian dragon sanctuary. The twins were out in the yard with Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, setting up the traditional after-pudding Quidditch game (and the firework surprise that everybody knew was coming, it happened every year). At the heart of the affair was the Golden Trio (and the future Mrs. Potter). Harry and Ginny were snuggled up together on the couch, laughing heartily at something that Hagrid (who, even sitting, had to bow his head inside the home) had recalled about that fateful night 10 years ago. 

Harry couldn’t seem to believe that it had been a decade since he’d joined the wizarding world. While it’s true that his days of celebrating his own birthday and blowing out candles made of dust felt centuries behind him, there were moments when the Boy-Who-Lived imagined he might wake up the next day and be back in that cupboard under the stairs, eleven years old again.

Ron had his arm slung around his girlfriend, Maisy, on the couch beside his best friend. He couldn’t believe his good fortune either. The first person he met on the train, turning out to not only be his best mate and surrogate brother, but also the person to bring him through a war and come out alive? He was truly grateful.

Hermione sat on the floor leaning against the couch, a nearly empty glass of plum wine in her hand. Whether it was the hearty laughter or the excess of redheads, these gatherings reminded her of the Gryffindor common room. Perhaps that was why she still lived at the Burrow, years after the war. Gryffindor house had been like coming home, even though she loved her parents and her family there was nothing that could compare to finally feeling like you belonged somewhere after years of hearing _freak_ whenever you passed. Of course, she had _still_ heard freak-like insults at Hogwarts but the grander scheme of things (being a witch and not just abnormal) had rooted her solidly. The Burrow made her feel the same way.

After the war, the wizarding world expected great things from her and her best friends – things that somehow needed to top the sacrifices they had made to bring Voldemort down. The pressure got to them, of course. They were so young, so unsure of what to do next, and when Harry and Ron accepted positions as Aurors as everybody expected, people began to ask Hermione “why not you, too?”. _Brightest Witch of her Age_ . It’s a huge honor for your name to be known in connection to that moniker, but Hermione quickly realized she needed time to just be … well, _Hermione Granger_. She would never stop reading, stop studying, stop researching. When she and Filius announced their Anti-Oblivate Potion, the world seemed to erupt in applause and forgave her for the years they thought she had spent puttering away at nothing. Now that she was once again doing unremarkable things, neither living up to her name nor causing raucous rumors (as other notable names had done to let off steam or to capitalize on their post-war celebrity status), the wizarding world seemed to stare at her with pity. But, not her friends. Her friends treated her just the same as they always had. Good old reliable Hermione Granger with her nose in a book, ready to read her way to the top. She supposed that was okay.

“An’ Hermione. When are yeh thinkin’ of joinin’ us at the castle?” Hagrid asked, looking down upon her. Suddenly she felt like a first-year again if only in stature. How she hated being asked about what she was going to do next.

“Oh, well, there isn’t really a position for me at Hogwarts, Hagrid."

“Nonsense! Can’t you see it? Professor Granger! Transfiguration or, charms! Bloody brilliant yeh’d be.” 

Ah yes, there it was again, the ever-present need to cherrypick Hermione’s qualities to hold her to a higher standard than the rest of the world. The thought was much appreciated, it was nice for her better qualities to be recognized, but she was past living just to outshine other’s high expectations of her. Hermione had spent too many years proving herself and now it was high time she enjoy how that hard work shaped her life.

“Well, not sure Minerva would appreciate my taking her job. Or Filius, for that matter,” she murmured, tucking a renegade curl behind her ear. “But regardless, I don’t know if I want to be a teacher.”

“You? Not a teacher?” Ron’s shock was out of place. Surely she’d mentioned this during their ill fated romance? “‘Mione, I’d reckon out of all of us you’re the _only_ one that makes sense being a teacher.” Ginny threw an empty Celebrations wrapper at her brother.

“Hey, what about me?” Harry looked incredulous, but there was mirth behind his offense.

“Sorry mate, but it’s _Hermione_.” 

“Well spotted, Ron. Finally learned my name.” 

“I think Harry was the obvious choice. After what he did for Dumbledore’s Army.” added Ginny, and Hermione flung out her hand in agreement as if to say ‘yes, exactly!’ “Not that it even was a choice. Harry applied and Hermione didn’t.”

“I think our dear Granger has far more in store for her than being a ruddy teacher anyways, no offense Harry.” Fred had appeared to her right. When had he gotten here? She hadn’t even noticed him plop down next to her.

“None taken,” Harry grinned. “She’s remarkable. She could do anything she wants!”

Hermione flushed because she really couldn’t. There was quite a lot she had no experience in. 

“And yet she chooses to sit around with you wankers. Really, Granger, what gives? I thought you were going to come help us with the fireworks this year.” Fred nudged her. 

“I thought you were joking!”

“Now why would you think that?”

“You and George are _always_ joking.”

Suddenly it went black. There were a couple shouts and the sound of a few people fumbling for then wands and then out came Molly, trailed by Arthur and Minerva, birthday cake in hand while singing _Happy Birthday_ . Hermione could have sworn she’d heard a small ‘brilliant!’ escape Harry’s lips as he stepped over her to greet the small cake procession. She watched as he kissed his former professor and then surrogate mother on the cheek before stopping to shake hands with his surrogate father. As he stood in front of the cake, two candles spelling out _twenty-one_ between the glittering sparks they gave off, Harry closed his eyes. There was a look of supreme serenity that overtook his body at that moment. Hermione thought he looked like a man who was absolutely where he meant to be, and he was; Harry Potter was surrounded by family, the people who loved him most in the world, and it was peacetime. She briefly wondered if she’d ever feel like that, but before she could register the thought, Harry blew out his candles and the room went dark again. 

When Ron returned the lights to the room (it had been a coordinated plan involving a nod from every Weasley in a trail from Molly in the kitchen to Ron on the couch and a subtle _click_ of Dumbledore’s deluminator), everyone cheered. Ginny hopped up from the couch, bounding over Hermione to pepper her fiancé’s face with kisses and the cake began to pass itself out to the party guests. Everybody seemed to be in pairs, Hermione noticed with a start as she looked around the room. Whether or not a guest came with somebody else, everybody did seem to find another conversation partner, someone to share champagne with while celebrating their savior’s newest trip around the sun. Ron and Maisy, Harry and Ginny, George and Angelina, even Neville and … was that both Luna _and_ Hannah Abbott? Who did Hermione have?

“Come on, let’s get some air.” Her prayers had been answered, it seemed, even if it was only Fred Weasley standing above her and offering her his hand. While she thought the hand had been for help standing up from her position on the floor, Hermione felt the telltale tug and before he could protest, _pop!_ they were standing in the dark once again.

“Will. You. Stop. Doing that?” Hermione admonished, hitting his arm half-heartedly.

“Thought you might want to escape before they started up again.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Freddie, but I was very much looking forward to that cake.” She was pouting, but it was _cake_ . Who turns down a slice of Molly Weasley’s finest baking? No sooner than she voiced her complaint then she heard the _zip_ of an object being _accio_ ’d towards her. The plates passed dangerously close on either side of her before being caught, handily, by Fred. 

“Your cake, madam.” He held one out to her, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Fred Weasley, you know me too well.” She picked a flower from the long grass and transfigured it into a fork. It was a rich chocolate cake, with a cinnamon-spiced icing, and there was something about it Hermione could only describe as ‘magical’ as the first bite touched her tongue. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked after she caught Fred chuckling at her enjoyment.

“What, you don’t recognize it? Come on, keep up.” He started off, out of the long grass and onto a cobblestone pa– _oh!_

“My bridge! I’ve never been out here this late.”

“Funny, because before you the only time I’d seen this place was when Georgie and I tried to run away. Aged 7. We got to the bridge and thought _‘ah better not. There might be a troll!_ ’ If we’d known it was as simple as bashing them over the head and sticking a wand up their snouts we needn’t have worried at all!” Hermione had to contain herself from snorting in laughter. It really had not been one of the trio’s finer moments, but there was a point there somewhere. Miraculously enough they had survived.

“Silly Fred, a troll? In Devon? Call the ickle first years!” They were near enough now that she skipped to the bridge and hopped up, choosing to sit on the handrail and let her legs dangle over the walkway rather than sit below it and let her legs dangle over the water. Fred joined her a second later, not so much hopping up as simply leaning beside her due to his height.

They ate their cake in silence and then, “Harry’s right.”

“Hm?” Hermione was absorbed in her cake again. “About what?”

“You really could do anything you want.” She wasn’t looking at him but imagined that there was a smirk on his face.

“Right, because I’m _Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age, Orders of Merlin First_ and _Second Class_? You must be joking.” 

“I’m not taking the piss. You could.” 

Hermione tried to read his face from the corner of her eye but it was too dim under the trees to see him clearly in the moonlight. She chanced a glance and found that he was stabbing absently at his cake, determinedly not looking in her direction. That was odd.

“Okay, like what?” She prodded.

“I dunno. Sure you could go back to Hogwarts. Or you could study for a Mastery. Or you could apprentice with Ollivander. I bet you could even take ol’ Shacklebolt’s job if you really wanted it. Right now, even. _Youngest Minister of her Age_.”

“What if…” Hermione hesitated. She’d never said what she was about to aloud before. Not to Harry and Ron, not to her professor-turned-research-fellow Flitwick, not even to herself. “What if I don’t want to do any of that?” That got his attention, though there wasn’t much cake left on his plate to command it anymore.

“Well, then I bet you’d look great on adverts for George and I’s new Wonder Witch line.” Fred waggled his eyebrows at her. “But, you really could do anything you ever wanted. I mean it. Open up a muggle-material-only bookshop in Diagon and I bet you’d even pull in the Malfoy’s.”

She chuckled. “Maybe that would be impressive in regards to Lucius, but I hear that Narcissa and Draco regularly ask for more Tolkein through the program.”

“Point stands that you have the world ready to bow down at your feet, Hermione, all you have to do is ask it to.”

“And what if it doesn’t approve?”

“Who says the world needs to approve of what you do? Do it for yourself. After all these years, you deserve it.” She hummed in agreement. 

Over the past three years, Fred had met her at the bridge only a handful of times. The first year he was mainly only there to find her if she stayed out too long and Molly worried. The second-year he began to notice that she only truly went missing on Mondays, and the third year (the year that wasn’t even over yet) he’d brought her lunch the Monday after Harry and Ginny announced their engagement at family dinner. After that, Fred seemed to find Hermione more and more for reasons he could never fully explain. 

“We should make this a regular thing, you coming to sit on my bridge.”

“Really? May I ask why?”

“I don’t know. You just… It’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of.” It wasn’t what Hermione had meant to say, but there was a little bit of warmth inside her that said she wasn’t far off.


	5. GNO (Ginny's Night Out)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Harry up at Hogwarts and the Harpies in the off-season, Ginny finds herself in desperate need of a muggle girl's night with Hermione. Drunk as a skunk, the pair end up in the flat above WWW and Fred finds himself falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everybody, heeere's Ginny! I've always really enjoyed the characterization of Hermione and Ginny's friendship in fics. They're such buds, I'm glad Hermione found a sister in Ginny. I hope you enjoy!

August passed much more quickly than Ginny could have ever expected. The Harpies concluded their season in the early days of the month, and with Harry popping back and forth between Hogwarts and London to prepare, Ginny found herself with more free time than she knew what to do with. There were no complaints from her, of course. It wasn’t like Harry would be living at Hogwarts full time, like most of the professors including Neville who was set to take over Herbology for first through third years. He had, however, decided that it might be worthwhile to spend the first month of the term at Hogwarts full-time. McGonagall had offered Harry stay in the chambers behind the DADA classroom, as they rightfully belonged to him, and he’d excitedly accepted. Ginny knew he’d always wished that he could have taken his seventh year at school if only there hadn’t been more pressing issues. So, that September she was left alone in their big townhouse, 12 Grimmauld Place. 

After the war, and after a few months staying in the familiarity of the Burrow, Harry had moved into Sirius’ old place full time. Due to years of being the Order’s headquarters, there was much to do by way of renovations. It had been time to properly update the property, to drag Walburga off of the wall and replace the drapes once and for all (Harry had money to spend, anyway). When Ginny moved in, they’d decorated their new home together and it had become quite a lovely place to live. Surprisingly, she found that she loved living in the city even after growing up in the countryside. There was always something to do, and in muggle London, there was always somewhere to go without the ruddy Daily Prophet showing up and ruining it. 

So maybe there was a silver lining in being both in the Quidditch off-season _and_ having your future husband hundred of miles away for a month. Ginny could do _whatever_ she wanted. She was a famous face, of course, being the fiancé of the Boy-Who-Lived and being one of the youngest professional Quidditch players currently on the pitch, but she could find relative anonymity if she popped on a hat and went out without Harry. Usually, she tried to include him whenever she went shopping or popped out for ice cream at Fortescue’s since he was still having trouble getting used to the stares and often tears that came with the sight of him. The wizarding world was utterly grateful, but Harry Potter still reminded them of what they had lost, still reminded _him_ of everybody who had died on his behalf. Ginny wished she could wrap the pair of them up in James’ invisibility cloak and hideaway together.

And that’s how Hermione found herself roped into a night out.

“Ginny I’m not going to even _bother_ curling my hair with that thing it’ll take me hours!

“Nonsense, Hermione. It’ll look great, I’ll do it for you!” Ginny was waving around a muggle curling iron. Her red hair already fell in gentle ringlets down her back. To her credit, she’d somehow managed to do her whole head in about fifteen minutes but Hermione knew from way too many summers trying to manage her hair that this would not end well.

“Go ahead, take a crack at it but when not a single curl holds you’re responsible for making it look somewhat presentable.” Hermione huffed, turning around so that Ginny had access to the back of her head.

The pair were sitting on the ground in Ginny and Harry’s bedroom, in front of the floor-length mirror the former had leaned against the wall and called “interior decorating”. Harry thought it just looked like she had gotten too lazy to hang it up, but what did men know anyway? They’d had electric wires sewn through the building by a brother/sister pair of electricians (one muggle, one magical), which Hermione found to be a wildly helpful addition to wizarding life. When she got her own place, she decided, she’d pay to have that done too

As Ginny made an attempt at her hair, Hermione was painting Ginny’s toenails with a dark purple polish. They were quite a sight, with the older girl sat in criss-cross between the younger’s splayed legs, trying to get enough leverage to see what she was painting without subjecting herself to any possible burns. After a while, Hermione finished the nail polish and cast a quick-drying charm over Ginny’s toes. That was where being a witch _definitely_ had its perks. Behind her, she could tell that Ginny hadn’t made much progress.

“You know you can give up.

“No,” the redhead grunted unhappily. “I’m going to curl your hair or die trying, Hermione Granger.

“We can always break out the Sleakeasy’s if you really insi–

“Hermione! Will you be quiet a second? I’m concentrating.” Hermione thought she smelled smoke

“Okay okay okay, that’s it, you’re going to burn all my hair off!” She got up hastily, checking the back of her head in the mirror. Other than the occasional ringlet and, bizarrely, a few straight pieced, Hermione’s hair looked just the same as it had nearly an hour ago when they’d started. “

“Remind me not to ask you to do my hair _ever again!_ ” Hermione laughed

“Fine, then come here I have another idea!” Ginny grasped at her arms trying to pull her back down in front of her

“No way! I’ll just go get the–”

“ _Crinus muto!_ ” she exclaimed, grinning and clapping as Hermione’s hair transformed instantly. Instead of styling her hair into ringlets as promised, it had all been straightened and hung a few inches longer than it did in Hermione’s natural curl pattern. “Oh, you look so _good!_ ”

Hermione turned to check herself out in the mirror, and she had to agree with her friend. Her hair reminded her quite a lot of the actress who was in that muggle American show… She couldn’t remember the name … _Friends_? The ends of her hair, already cut in layers at a failed attempt at enhancing her natural “curls”, were straightened but flowed slightly inwards, framing her face at their shortest and adding a slight texture at their longest. She was quite pretty

“Fine. You’re right, this is actually kind of nice.” Hermione ran her fingers through the silky hair, “but it’s not like I’ll be doing this every day. I barely look like myself!

“Nonsense. You look _stellar_. This is how we’re doing your hair for my wedding, no arguments!” 

Five hours later, Ginny’s curls had fallen out while Hermione’s hair was still stick straight.

“Bloody muggles cant make anything stay right!” Ginny cried over the blaring music, clutching her hair in her hands. 

The night was a roaring success. Hermione had lead Ginny through the Underground, taking Angel station from the square just past Grimmauld Place through to Oxford Circus. Though she was somewhat used to participating in the use of muggle transportation now, Ginny still had very little grasp on how to navigate London’s vast underground system on her own and was supremely grateful to have Hermione’s help in pushing their way from the Northern line to the Victoria line at Euston station during the change.

The pair had up at Madame JoJo’s, definitely, Ginny’s pick, who’s interior reminded Hermione of the Moulin Rouge (which she had never actually visited in Paris, her parents said she was too young, but she had seen the movie with Ginny earlier in the summer). She thought that the entrance cover was far too steep, but her friend waved her off and produced a much too large sum of muggle money to hand to the flustered doorman. He must have whispered something in the ear of a bartender or server because the pair had been treated like queens all night. On the stage in the other room was a beautiful burlesque dancer clad in only diamonds and pearls, and after all of the liquor, they’d downed that evening Hermione was beginning to imagine that was her, too. She _felt_ like she was dripping in jewels, and she was probably dripping in sticky-sweet drinks. Regardless, Hermione felt _good_.

“HermioneHermioneHermioneHermione!” Ginny squealed, “I want chips! I want chips, I want chips!” They gripped each other and screamed in laughter, stumbling together towards the bar. “Do you have chiiips, barman?” 

“Sorry little Red, no can do.” At this devastating news, Ginny slammed her fist on the bar and demanded another shot of “firewhiskey–NO! Just whiskey! _Whiskey!”_ Hermione pulled her away, muttering how “nobody shoots whiskey, come _on_ ” and dragged her to the coat check where they picked up their purses and stumbled outside

“Let’s get _chips_ , Hermione!

“Okay, okay! Where do you want to get chips?

“Hmmm… _Oh!_ Do you think Leaky has chips?”

“Gin I don’t think Leaky has much of _anything_ at this hour!” Hermione squinted up at the sky, trying to pull all of her Astronomy knowledge back from school to tell what time it might have been. But ah, she was drunk and it was no use as it was cloudy regardless. But next to her, Ginny had started to simper slightly at the suggestion that she might not get chips tonight. “Alright, come on. Let’s go find out. It’s right around the corner, isn’t it?

Ginny’s face lit up as she took Hermione’s hand in hers and, surprisingly nimble for her inebriated state, began to drag her down the street. “No, no it’s _this_ way,” Hermione laughed, tugging on Ginny’s hand back the other way and starting towards the pub. They turned one corner and even though Hermione stepped directly into a puddle, almost twisting her ankle, the cushioning charm she had the foresight to cast held strong. They turned the next corner and as they approached the shopfront _The Leaky Cauldron_ sign began to appear.

“Chips!” Ginny chirped.

They pushed through the door, but the room was dark. Behind the bar stood Tom, wiping glasses clean as a few patrons nursed small drinks that seemed to smoke at the bar.

“Closed up now, Ladies. Need a room for the night?

“Closed?! You don’t have any chips?” Tom shook his head. Hermione wasn’t even sure that the Leaky _regularly_ served chips. She couldn’t remember ever ordering them when she met up with Harry and the Weasley before school over the years.

“Oh, I know! Hermione let’s go see _Fred_!”

“He’s asleep!

“But he might have chips! And if he _doesn’t_ have chips, we can floo back to my place from there!

Fred awoke to someone singing in the street.

He blinked in the moonlight. He’d forgotten to close the blinds again. Rolling away from the window, Fred sunk deeper under his blanket, determined to go back to bed, until–

“ _Freddie!”_ Was that Ginny? “ _Freddie wake up!_ ” It was Ginny. He groaned and threw his covers off, swinging his bare feet onto the cold floor. Peering out the window, Fred could see his little sister with her grubby little nose pressed against the shop’s facade three floors below. Shoving his feet into his slippers, Fred trudged to the door of his flat, down the stairs into his and George’s workshop, down the stairs inside his shop, and to the door which he hastily unlocked and dragged the girls inside. 

“Are you trying to wake up all of the alley? Shut it!” He hissed. “What are you two doing out here so late?”

“I want chips! Gimme all your chips!” Ginny was giggling and stumbling over her own feet, even stood still. She had most of her weight leant on Hermione, who was grimacing and rolling her eyes. 

“Are you two… pissed?” Hermione hiccupped, and a grin bloomed across Fred’s face. “Alright, come on upstairs. If you can!”

It was an adventure getting the two of them up the curving stairs in the shop, through his and George’s workshopped boobytrapped with unstable prototypes, and up the stairs leading to the door to his flat. When they’d finally made it, Fred lit the fire with a flick of his wand and ushered his sister and Hermione onto the couch.

“Need any Pepperup?” He asked, heading into the small, galley kitchen to fetch the potions (or at least some water). 

“No! We. Want. chips!” Ginny was hopping up and down, hands clasped expectantly and she stood in the middle of the living room. 

“Well, you might just be in luck,” Fred called back, digging in the back of his freezer for that half-eaten bag of frozen crisps he knew was buried in there from… uh, when George still lived here? Nobody replied to him, so he figured he was on the right track and the girls were making their drunk arses comfortable. He pulled out a baking tray – because Fred Weasley was actually quite a good chef and nobody could tell him otherwise – and unceremoniously dumped the chips on it. Instead of putting them in the oven, he instead whispered _incendio_ and held the flame back from the tray with great control. He’d read that trick in Julia Child’s second cookbook: _Mastering the Art of French_ Wizarding _Cooking_. When the chips were cooked through and crispy around the edges, he tipped the baking sheet so they’d slide off onto a plate and carried it into the kitchen for his insatiable sister.

But she was nowhere to be found. The only sight of her was a dusting of floo powder on the ground in front of the fireplace; like someone had grabbed a handful and then stopped to have a conversation before deciding to leave. Fred turned to look at the couch and there she was, Hermione Granger, wearing nothing he had ever seen on her before and with _straight hair_ , asleep on his couch. 

_She’s so beautiful_

The thought caught before he could catch it. He had never, in his memory, seen her with straight hair before. It looked like Ginny’s work, he doubted that Hermione would choose to forgo her trademark curls willingly. Even during the Yule Ball she had embraced them, if not tamed them into submission. Fred smiled to himself. While she had certainly still been _ickle Granger_ , Ron’s best friend back in her fourth year, his sixth, he had been able to recognize that Hermione Granger had certainly come into her own. She wasn’t illuminated by the early evening light, but the lamp beside his couch seemed to do the trick tonight. Fred acquiesced to his subconscious. She really was beautiful, even asleep, even drunk, with straight or curly hair.

Fred Weasley thought Hermione Granger was probably more beautiful than anyone he’d ever met.


	6. Something there that wasn't there before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes in an unfamiliar bed, and is woken again on a very familiar chest by a very familiar friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the title has to be a reference to Beauty & the Beast.

There was a noise. There was a noise coming from somewhere. There was an _annoying_ noise coming from somewhere. There was an _annoying_ noise coming from somewhere and it was preventing Hermione from sleeping in. Had she set her alarm before she’d gone to bed last night? Was Arthur tinkering with a new gadget? Oh, right, she had gone out last night. Maybe it was Ginny and Harry’s doorbell? Reluctantly Hermione opened her eyes and was met with an unfamiliar scene. She had never been in this bedroom before. Hermione was laid out on deep purple sheets and there was a lime-green throw blanket draped across her body. Well, that certainly bore no resemblance to her periwinkle blue comforter at the Burrow, nor the green bedroom at Grimmauld place she usually used to crash in. She lifted the blanket and discovered she was still wearing the dress Ginny had talked her into last night, as well as a pair of flannel pajama pants that were far too long for her legs, but her shoes, purse, and wand were all missing... 

Hermione sat up blearily, rubbing her eyes and noting that somebody (maybe her?) had charmed away her makeup. Well, she thought, that’s convenient. She wrapped the throw around her body as she got out of bed to do a little snooping. Hermione distinctly remembered leaving the bar with Ginny, meaning this couldn’t be a hookup. Could it? She hadn’t done this since after she and Ron… No, probably not a hookup. There was a picture moving in that corner, so not a muggle. Hermione shuffled over to it, but it didn’t provide her any answers. It was a picture of the new Order of the Phoenix. At least it was someone she could trust.

Hesitantly taking hold of the doorknob, Hermione steeled herself for who she might find. She stepped out into a hall, on the right there was a window on one side with its blinds drawn like the ones in the bedroom, and on the left was another door into what Hermione supposed was the bathroom. She snuck down the hall, her bare feet trailed by the long blanket until she came to the split doorway into the kitchen and the living room. Hermione chose the living room and didn’t even glance into the kitchen. She should have, considering this was an unfamiliar place and she didn’t have her wand, but as soon as Hermione stepped through the doorway she knew _exactly_ where she had ended up last night.

“You’re up!” Someone boomed from behind her. Hermione hadn’t realized she had a headache. “About bloody time.”

“Good morning,” Hermione lifted a hand to her ailing head, rubbing gingerly at her temple. “I don’t suppose you know how I got here, do you?”

Fred chuckled, “no, that’s all you. You showed up at my doorstep with my sister shouting for chips.”

“Wait, I was shouting for chips?”

“Nah, she was. Want a Pepperup for your head?”

“Yes please,” Hermione groaned, plopping down on the couch and tucking her legs under her until she was entirely wrapped in the blanket. When Fred returned, she downed the potion in one go, sputtering only a little bit.

“Impressive.” Fred nodded, smiling slightly. The sight of her wrapped in his blanket, curled up on his couch was doing him in

Her head was already starting to improve. “You know, I don’t know why we didn’t just head back to her place. I’m pretty sure they have bags and bags of chips in their freezer since Gin’s so obsessed with them.” 

“Yeah, why didn’t you just floo back to Grimmauld?”

“I… have no clue. The Leaky Cauldron was walking distance from the club we were at and,” she shrugged, “it seemed like the easiest option to harass you I guess.”

Fred sat beside her on the couch, leaning back and stretching his arms across the top cushions. “I’m glad you didn’t try apparating.” His hand brushed accidentally against her shoulder and he clutched his fingers into a fist. She hadn’t seemed to notice, or maybe she didn’t mind, either way, she was practically leaning into him. Hermione rubbed her hands over her eyes.

“So I assume it was you who…” She gestured to her face, realizing he must have charmed her makeup off. Fred nodded. It was a clever trick that he knew the spell, but really he only knew it because he and George ripped it off in development of the counter charm for a new product they were testing. 

Now that Hermione knew where she’d ended up the night before, she was acutely aware of the residence she’d found herself in. While Ron hadn’t lived here during the tenure of their romantic relationship, she’d been over a few times with Harry as Ron’s guest specifically. Generally, the boys tended to visit her, and she had never been in either Fred or George’s rooms so she felt it was safe to bet that she’d been led to some sort of auxiliary sleeping arrangement when she’d imposed in the middle of the night. Come to think of it, it didn’t seem that Ron had been disturbed whatsoever last night.

“Where’s Ron?”

“Lucky git spent the night at Maisy’s.” 

Hermione hummed and nodded in thought.

“And did I wander into the guest room myself or..?” 

“Oh no, I carried you thereafter you fell asleep on the couch.” He patted the cushions, “and that’s not the guest room. I turned George’s room into an office when he moved in with Angie so…”

“Oh. _Oh!_ Oh, Fred, you didn’t have to let me sleep in your bed, you could’ve just left me out here with… Ginny. Where is Ginny?” 

“Dunno. Figured you’d knocked yourself out and she floo’d home. She made quite the mess, actually.” Fred scratched at the stubble on his chin. He really should have swept the powder up last night.

“None of that explains why I’m wearing your pajamas.”

“Right, well, you woke up when I put you down on my bed and insisted on borrowing them because they ‘make you feel warm’ but I’m pretty sure you’ve never worn my pajamas before. Correct me if I’m wrong.” 

“Oh,” Hermione blushed. She’d never have pegged herself as a demanding, needy drunk. “I’m sorry.”

“No, s’okay. You look good in them.” 

Fred looked surprised at the words that came out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that, Hermione was sure. Not only were they far too big for her, but they were _his_. Sure, she’d grown up around his family and had borrowed plenty of t-shirts or sweaters from Ron and Ginny over the years but it felt… different to be borrowing clothing from Fred, like she had stumbled upon something more intimate than she’d meant to. 

“Thanks,” Hermione said dumbly. “So, uh, is Wheeze’s not open today? I thought Saturday was your day to man the helm.”

“Nah, we’re closed on Saturdays, Fred deadpanned. “It has absolutely nothing to do with the girl who woke up, in my pajamas, in my bed.”

“Oh please tell me that’s not what you told George.” She buried her face in her hands. 

“Of course I did. How else was I supposed to get him out of bed with Angie other than telling him a lovely young lady was all snuggled up in _mine_. It’s very important I maintain my image, you know.” Hermione stuck her leg out and kicked him in the thigh. “Ow! Granger no, I just said I needed him to cover me! Have mercy!”

Where had this version of Fred come from? He was joking and laughing with her in a way that was simultaneously new and familiar to Hermione. This was the Fred who had been meeting her at her bridge more and more in the past few months, but he was not the same Fred who sat near her at family events or the same Fred who she helped de-gnome the Burrow’s garden. Hermione was easier going with this Fred than the Other Fred, she felt like she could breathe and didn’t have to perform her usual ballet of bookwormish qualities just so someone wouldn’t ask her if she was alright. That had been happening a lot as of late, as she rebelled against what people thought she should be, but Fred had never made her feel different. The Fred that only came out when they were alone listened to her, and played tricks on her, and never judged her when she played them right back. This Fred tucked her into bed, and took a day off of the work that he loved, and let her wear his pajamas. This Fred called her lovely. Neither Ron nor Viktor had ever called her lovely.

“Want some breakfast?”

“Do you offer it to every _lovely young lady_ who sleeps in your bed?”

Fred snorted, hauling himself off the couch. She wasn’t wrong, but it was quite something to compare her to the women who he occasionally found as bedmates. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, tousling it uncomfortable before nodding sharply and striding into the kitchen. 

“I want the full Fred Weasley Experience then,” Hermione called, lounging back against the arm of his couch and stretching until her toes peeked out from underneath his throw blanket. The couch was really fairly comfortable and Hermione understood how she’d fallen asleep so quickly last night. 

“The _Fred Weasley_ _Experience_? Unfortunately, I think that’s a little above your pay grade ickle Granger. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

He braced himself against the countertop. Hermione Granger was curled up on _his_ couch, in _his_ blanket, in _his_ pajamas. It felt like something out of a dream he’d tried to repress. The girl in there –no the woman, was off the table. She was his little brother’s ex-girlfriend and grew up basically as his second little sister, his little … crush had to be against the bro-code or something. He couldn’t be standing here thinking about what it might be like for Hermione Granger to sleep in his bed while he was in it, or to wake up with her hair strewn across both of their pillows, or what it would be like to bring her breakfast in bed. Fred thought his internal monologue sounded like a bit of a ponce. She wasn’t in bed, but maybe this morning could satisfy his strange desires to be near her like that. Which he _definitely_ didn’t want. Definitely not.

If Fred made Hermione breakfast and brought it to her, it would just be a guy making his one hundred percent platonic friend who needed a place to stay last night some breakfast because she probably hadn’t eaten much last night and must be hungry. That and his mother had imparted some pretty strict host manners on him as a child and even if he had never shown it, Fred had taken the lessons to heart. 

He emerged fifteen minutes later with two plates piled with toast, sausage, and a fried egg. The only difference between the two was that Fred knew Hermione didn’t like beans and had left them off hers. He handed the one sans-beans to her and with his free hand lifted her feet up and set them on his lap as he assumed their spot on the couch. He set his plate on top of her ankles and tucked in, silently congratulating himself on his breakfast prowess.

“I’ll say thank you but I’m not going to sing your praises since I already knew you were a good cook,” Hermione said, pointing a corner of toast at him before biting it off. She swallowed and then, “But if you make this every time you have a lady overnight, maybe I should stay over more often.”

Fred sputtered on his beans. Choking a little, his eyes drifted from his plate to her plate, up the arm that was holding it and to her face. If she knew what she had said she wasn’t showing it, though it did seem like there was a slight blush to her cheeks. Maybe his attempt at taking her makeup off last night hadn’t been as successful as he’d thought. Fred’s eyes found hers and he saw mirth there, sparkling behind her chocolate irises. Finally, he found the words in his throat, “my mum’s cooking gone that far downhill?” It wasn’t a smooth recovery, but it would have to do.

Hermione knew exactly what she had said though, and was doing her best to keep herself in line. It was very surprising that those words had weaseled their way past her lips. She blamed Fred, and George, and how he – _they_ – were bad influences on her. She thought back to the night of Harry’s birthday party, and how Fred had taken her out to her bridge when she had felt somewhat overwhelmed. How had he known? Perhaps he was just very observant but, Hermione wondered, why would she have been his focus that evening? She cleared her throat very suddenly

“Right, well I’d better be off or Molly will worry.”

A frown downturned Fred’s pretty mouth. _She wants to leave already?_ He asked himself, noticing the disappointment that flashed across his own mind. Before he could say anything, she was already unwrapped from his blanket and halfway across the room to put her dish down in the kitchen.

“Hermione, wait!” He managed, hastily putting his plate down on the coffee table. “Hang out awhile more. Give me a reason to have skived off work today.” Fred felt like he was downright pleading, but this woman was his friend and had been since they were school children. It couldn't be that strange that he wanted to spend a little time with her. So what if he had never sought out personal time with her anywhere other than in the middle of the backwoods on a bridge. It didn’t sound right when he thought about it like that

She stopped in the doorway and a silly little smile bloomed across her face. Flipping her hair over her shoulder to look back on him she let the grin overtake her face. “Well if I’m going to stay, as one of your aforementioned _lovely ladies_ I humbly request one of your t-shirts to go with the trousers as I can’t possibly stay in this dress any longer.

* * *

She had been puttering around Grimmauld Place for hours and yet Hermione had still not owled her to say she’d made it home alright. To be frank, when Ginny left Ron and Fred’s the previous night she figured Fred wouldn’t even bother waking sleeping beauty up. She’d expected to wake up to a slightly flustered Hermione, stumbling through the floo in the little dress and heels she’d worn last night, ready to admonish Ginny for leaving her. Her brothers were good hands, though, and while it might have been somewhat awkward if Ron had ended up finding her on the couch the next morning (or Maisy, could you imagine?) Hermione would get over it in favor of not having been accidentally splinched from a drunk apparition accident. 

Around four in the afternoon Ginny had really had enough. Begrudgingly pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater Hermione had bought her for her birthday this year, she took a grand handful of floo powder from their little pot on the mantle in the drawing room and called out “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes”. When Fred and George had reopened after the war, they’d registered the fireplace in the flat as the business’ official floo address so that their family, Hermione, and Harry could have a slightly more private entrance into Diagon Alley if they so desired. Apparating hadn’t become a fan favorite mode of transformation among the trio after all of the travelling they had done the year before and Hermione especially appreciated it as she used to have nightmares about splinching Ron’s arm.

When she came through, Ginny had to smack her palm across her mouth to keep from giggling and waking them. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but Hermione and Fred laid out across the couch _ , asleep _ , hadn’t crossed her mind for a second. If anything, Ginny had expected to berate her friend for not checking in or she’d have to apparate to the Burrow and wake the girl up personally. Nope! Here she was, the great Hermione Granger, bathed in the golden light coming through the flat’s large, paned window. Strangest of all was that her head was laid upon Fred’s chest and  _ Fred’s arm was around her waist. _

Ginny blinked a few times, hard, unbelieving that the scene in front of her wasn’t some strange mirage. Her  _ brother _ and her  _ best friend _ ? No, this had to be a joke. Then again, she’d thought that same thing when she’d discovered Ron had a thing for Hermione back in their fourth year and it hadn’t been so strange then.

_ Interesting _ . That’s what this was. It was an interesting development in the plot. Ginny almost felt bad waking them up, but she did anyway because she just had to be here when they realized that they were intertwined like devil’s snare. So she cleared her throat loudly. 

“Wha time isit?” Hermione grumbled, rubbing at her eyes. Fred simply huffed and tightened his hold around the witches waist, turning his head from one side to another. Ginny cleared her throat again and this time Hermione’s eyes shot open and she pushed herself up, hands splayed across Fred’s chest. 

“Fred!” 

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Fred said, mating an attempt to yank Hermione back down to him. Hermione was having none of it, however, and scrambled backwards on the couch awkwardly until she was leaning against the opposite armrest, knee tucked to her chest. “No,  _ Fred _ , wake up. Ginny’s here,” she hissed.

Fred jolted but did not open his eyes just yet. When he did, he cracked one open and as casually as one could possibly act said, “Oh, when did you get here?” Ginny nearly laughed out loud but she was still shocked by what she had walked in on.

“Did something… happen last night that I’m not aware of?” She asked tentatively, unsure of what answer she wanted to come out of their mouths.

“ _ No!” “ _ Haven’t you heard she’s one of my little sleepovers now?” Came out between the two at the same time.

“Fred!”

“ _ Hermione! _ ” He parroted back at her.  


“Ugh!” Hermione stood clutching Fred’s shirt tighter around her like she was somehow indecent and that might fix the issue. “I just fell asleep and he carried me to his bed after you left and I slept here, and I’m wearing his clothes but he just made me breakfast this morning and then we got to chatting and–! I’m not making this any better, am I?”

“No love, you certainly aren’t.” Fred swung his legs over the edge of the couch and dragged himself into a sitting position. “She’s mostly telling the truth.”

“Mostly?” Ginny squeaked.

“She missed a few bits, but yeah you left her here and I couldn’t let her sleep on the couch. Or stay in those bloody scraps you call clubbing clothing.”

“And where’s Ronald?” 

“At Maisy’s.” They both answered, like they had planned what to say if somebody caught them. Ginny narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t entirely convinced the pair hadn’t been leading some grand romantic story in secret behind everybody’s backs, but she’d found new determination to find out. She did, after all, have all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, seems little Freddie has a crush!


	7. You can hang back if you want to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the season of dressing up pretending you're someone you're not, so why does Hermione feel so drawn to discover who she really is when her carefully constructed costume is stripped away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very sorry I disappeared for a week. I embarked on a cross country road trip with my mother of all people to help her move and to be able to see my high-risk father more safely than if I had hopped a plane. So I had spotty wifi at best and hours of driving every day under my belt meaning no energy to write. But I am back and feeling more excited about these two than ever. I hope you enjoy!

“Come one, come all, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is having a Ball!”

“A literal ball, mind you. For the low, low price of fifteen galleons per head,  _ and-for-signing-a-waiver-that-dissolves-us-of-all-liabilities _ , you too can come to the most  _ magical _ evening of the year.”

“All included, even the pranks! All Hallow’s Eve and dressed like the Queen –”

“We’ll see you there–”

“–And might even make you scream!”

“ _ Happy Halloween!”  _

The voices of the twin Weasley faded in unison over Diagon Alley. All throughout the lane wizards and witches were looking around for the pranksters, both wary and excited that there might be a bit more to the announcement. The older crowd looked a little put off by the hourly announcement that rang loud and clear through the street, but the younger seemed eager to venture up to the store and buy tickets.

“So what do you think?” George asked with a grin. The twins, Angelina, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were sitting around the den in the flat above the joke shop. “Fred’s idea announcing it every hour daily. Nobody’s bound to miss it.”

“Nobody’s bound to get any sleep in the mornings, either.” Grumbled Ron, who had been woken up at 8 am on his day off from work.

“Not our fault you’re a lazy sod on a Saturday.” Fred smiled, tongue caught between his teeth cheekily. “Not our fault you haven’t learned to put a silencing spell on your windows either. How long have you been living here, mate? And you’ve never been bothered by the daily clatter?” he tutted, slinging an arm across the back of the settee that he, Hermione, and Ginny were sat upon. Though Ginny was sitting in the middle, Hermione felt herself squirm involuntarily when Fred’s long fingers  _ just _ brushed against her sleeve. Not even her shoulder, just the puff of her sleeve.  _ Get it together, Granger _ , she chided herself.

“He’s always slept like a corpse, that one.” Ginny chuckled, throwing a pillow across the room and hitting her youngest brother square in the nose. 

The twins had called a meeting of the siblings that afternoon to discuss their impending celebration and advertising venture. As the resident pair who had brought laughter back to the Alley after the war, Gred and Forge felt it was about time to kick it up a notch and truly celebrate the ability to enjoy each other’s company again. Of course, Halloween had become a double celebration between 1981 and 1994 when Voldemort was destroyed and then reborn during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but ever since his return it had become a bittersweet holiday. Even after Harry defeated Riddle at the Battle of Hogwarts, the Wizarding World had been slow to return to their usual jubilance, even in traditional celebration. 

“Right, well we’re aiming to make this a sort of annual thing. We’ve already sold rather a lot of tickets–”

“I hardly think your family constitutes ‘quite a lot’, George.” Angelina swatted at her boyfriend, a smile playing on her lips. “What is it with your brood and friends,” she gestured to Hermione, “A hundred already?”

“Har har.” George deadpanned. “We really have sold a lot, Ange. We were going to try and convince ol’ Minnie that we should hold it at the castle but obviously with students there she shot that down. Buzzkill.”

“So we thought instead of a stuffy old castle full of  _ rules _ ,” Fred shot a pointed look at Hermione, “we’d have it somewhere that former Perfect Prefects cant lord over us. So we’re having it here.”

“Hold on,  _ here _ ? And you weren’t going to even ask me?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Ronnikins, not in the flat. In the shop! Shouldn’t be too hard to get permits for a few expanding charms here and there considering we’re not trying to shirk the lease rules permanently. And if we get any trouble about it, we’ve got our fair share of contacts at the Ministry now, don’t we?”

“I think it’s a lovely idea. A great ball on Halloween. Sounds like a good distraction.”

“Hermione Granger supporting a ball filled with  _ pranks _ and  _ fun _ ? You do know there won’t be a library for you to disappear into, don’t you?”

“Oh come off it, Fred, you know very well that I’m more than capable of having some fun.”

A small  _ oooh _ escaped from Ginny’s tight-lipped smile. 

“Yeah Granger? Well, you’re going to have to remind me. I won’t be holding back just because you’re family. Family gets double the hijinks at this one.” 

“I bet one harmless little whizbang and ‘Mione drags you both by the ears for a scolding.”

“Better rip this other one-off just in case, then it’ll be all you Freddie boy!”

“Shove it, Ron. I rather  _ like _ going to balls, for your information. Didn’t manage to ruin that for me, did you?”

Hermione really did enjoy them. She never expected that they would be a regular occurrence in her life back in her fourth year when she’d struggled with Sleakeasy’s for over an hour and slipped on her floaty periwinkle dress only to end the night crying on the grand staircase because of a redheaded twat. But balls had become somewhat commonplace in their lives, as the Golden Trio was always the hottest RSVP to acquire. After the war, there were many celebratory balls thrown to honor the fallen, the rebuilding effort, the magical community, you name it. At first, Hermione had thought them incredibly insensitive. It had been so long since she had been in large crowds when the first happened to honor everything that Hogwarts had done as a fortress, and a school, that she had fled from the Great Hall into, you guessed it, the back of the library and hid from the world until Ron had begrudgingly come to find her. After that, it slowly got easier as they raised money to give back to communities that had been irreparably damaged by Death Eater armies, and even easier still after Hermione and Ron separated and she could spend time with the families of victims and her fellow child soldiers who shared such deep trauma as she did. It was wonderful to have seen people begin to smile again. Harry still didn’t do wonderfully with the balls, but he understood many of their political importance. Hermione wondered if he might come to the twins’ at all considering it was purely for fun, not to mention,  _ of course _ , that it was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.

“Hold on, Hermione,  _ distraction _ ? What do you mean?” Angelina asked innocently.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Hermione shrugged, “Just from everything, I guess. You know, the slow going with my parents. Obliviating your parents at seventeen, I don’t recommend it.” She sighed. When she and Flitwick had finished the potion and begun administering it, Hermione had wrongly assumed that it would work faster than they had estimated. She knew that she’d hoped too hard, too fast, and now it was two years later and they were still barely recognizing her as someone they know, let alone family, let alone their daughter. She fidgeted with a hangnail on her thumb for a moment until she realized the whole room had gone silent. Hermione looked up into the faces of her friends who were all focused on her with varying levels of pity, to … was that abject horror on Angelina’s face? Right, Hermione hadn’t ever talked about her family situation around Angie. Well, there was that, more people looking at her like the people on the street. Except these people were supposed to be her friends.  _ Did it get warmer in here all of a sudden? _

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to bring the mood down.” She spoke sheepishly before making a great show of checking the muggle watch on her wrist and exclaiming, “oh! Shoot, I forgot. I told Molly I would help her with prep for dinner tomorrow. I think she’s planning on a treat for Teddy and Andromeda.” It sounded like a solid enough excuse for running away, Hermione supposed. It wasn’t every week that the Tonks/Lupin pair came for dinner, and Hermione was the only one still living at the Burrow. It was plausible. “Thank you for lunch, Fred, Ron. Good to see you all. Best run.” Hermione flashed a smile as she wordlessly summoned her bag and grabbed a handful of floo powder. As she announced  _ The Burrow! _ into the green flames, Hermione looked up and caught Fred’s eyes boring into her, and they were filled with … understanding.  
  


* * *

“Are you alright?” Came a whisper over her shoulder as she was putting the finishing touches on the gravy she’d made for Molly’s Sunday Roast dinner. It wasn’t particularly strange that he check in on her this way, Fred had always been one of the more tactful Weasleys when it came to something seeming truly off with someone, and his family was just through the other side of the entryway in the den. Nobody else had seemed to think something was off with Hermione. She’d come home in a rush after yesterday at the boys’ flat to an empty home (Molly was off in the village to get a pudding she knew that Teddy liked last time they’d come to the house) and immediately headed up towards her bedroom. When she got to their old floor, she had curiously stopped at the door to Fred and George’s old room, gently pushing open the door in case there was to be another boxing telescope incident or if one of them were to have followed her here and caught her snooping. (Hermione knew which one she was thinking of but was refusing to admit it at present.) Instead of stepping inside, she had been overcome very quickly with a sense of belonging and fled again, running to the field and stumbling through the long grass until her lungs burned and her shoes found the muddy path.

“‘M fine.” She muttered, refusing to turn and see him. He was too close for comfort, standing right behind her. Hermione could feel his body heat radiating off of him, or maybe that was his magic? She didn’t know, but she knew he was too close. If she were to turn, the bookworm would find herself face to face with the prankster in a position she couldn’t condone.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“What is there to be sorry for? It is what it is.” She still couldn’t look at him, not even as he came to lean back against the counter to her right. He was leaning over her slightly, by the way, the light over the cooking changed. “I’ve got to finish this, dinner’s waiting.”

“You don’t have to come if it will make you uncomfortable.” This got her attention, and she blinked up at him. She hadn’t expected him to look so serious

“Are you daft? Did you not hear me, I said that I think it’s a brilliant idea. I- I was just overwhelmed yesterday is all. I’ll be there.” Hermione turned back to the gravy. “How much are tickets again?”

“For you, free.” 

“Fred–” She rolled her eyes and, with the pot in hand, began to walk away from him towards the gravy boat waiting to be filled. 

“No, Hermione, I’m serious. Friends and family discount.”

“How much did you charge Percy?” Finally,  _ finally, _ Hermione turned to look back at Fred, gravy boat and ladle in hand ready to place on the table. There was a silly little smile growing on the ginger’s face as he realized that she wasn’t mad at him. Fred studied her for a moment longer and then pushed off from the counter towards her.

“Not that he’s going, but fifty galleons.” Fred plucked the boat from her hands and started away towards his family.

“Frederick! You said it was only  _ fifteen!”  _

“Hermione _!”  _ He parroted, “you did know! Knew you’d been paying attention.” Fred threw a cheeky glance over his shoulder as he placed the gravy in the center of the dining table. “ _ Oi! Weasleys! _ Dinner’s up!” 

The clan began to shuffle towards them, still engaged in conversations about varying topics. Hermione caught the edges of sentences about Teddy’s metamorphmagus genes and what color hair he was favoring this week (there was a pang in her heart as she realized it was bubblegum pink at that moment), to Harry’s latest troublemaker students (the Shafiq girls who were in their third year, another set of twins, much to George’s delight Hermione could tell).

“We’ll talk more later,” came another whisper over her shoulder just as she was pulling out her chair. Hermione tried to glance over her shoulder at Fred but he had already gone. When she sat and turned to face forward he had already found the seat across from her and was pouring juice into Teddy’s little glass. 

The rest of the evening Hermione had half been expecting him to take hold of her elbow and apparate them away at a moment’s notice, but he hadn’t. Fred had barely looked at her over dinner but she could tell he was watching her, checking up on her. Hermione couldn’t decide if it was sweet or annoying. She openly watched as he helped Teddy play with his food, as his booming laugh shook his wine glass, as he flicked peas at Ginny when he thought she wasn't looking, as Ginny chucked her Yorkshire pudding at him in retribution and landed the shot squarely in the middle of his forehead. When dinner had ended with only so much of a scolding from Molly and an attempt at using his special pudding to copy Auntie Ginny from Teddy, Hermione had forgotten that Fred had somewhat cryptically told her he wanted to pursue the conversation from earlier. At long last, when it was just Hermione, Arthur, and Molly left in the Burrow, Hermione excused herself for the night and decided to turn in for the evening. This time when she passed the twins’ old room she didn’t stop in and instead trudged right upstairs to her own. 

“ _ FINALLY!”  _ Something from inside her darkened bedroom exclaimed. Hermione’s wand was out of her pocket and had cast a wordless body bind long before she could have said  _ petrificus totalus  _ aloud. There was a loud thud and after Hermione murmured  _ lumos! _ she was horrified to discover her would-be attacker was just Fred Weasley, clad in his green plaid pajamas, the same ones she had worn, who had been laid up on her bed and was now face down on her floor.

“Oh god, I’m such cock-up, sorry Fred.  _ Reparifors _ .” 

With a groan, Fred flopped himself over onto his back, rubbing at his surely bruised forehead. “I’ve never heard you say that.”

“Say what?” 

“Cock-up.”

“Spent enough time hanging around you lot I was bound to pick something up.” Hermione perched herself on the side of her bed and toed off her ratty sneakers, flicking them across the room with her toes. 

“No no, we all know you secretly swear like a sailor– blimey try saying that five times fast.  _ Secretly swear like a sailor, secretly-swear-like-a-sailor, secretlyswearlikeasailor _ –”

“Okay, okay, I get it–” Hermione laughed.

“I mean I’ve never heard you call  _ yourself _ a cock-up. You’re not a cock-up, Granger. Even if I am going to grow a horn from this bump you’ve caused.” He was right, his forehead was looking quite red and protuberance-like. Hermione murmured a healing spell and the irritation began to shrink back. “Thanks.”

Hermione shrugged. She wasn’t sure she believed Fred. There were a lot of things Hermione hadn’t gotten right, even when everyone was positive that she always had the answers. “Why are you hiding in my room, in the dark, lurking?”

“Well we didn’t want dear mummy to think you had a clandestine meeting with a mysterious gentleman caller now, did we?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “But technically  _ aren’t _ I having a clandestine meeting with a mysterious gentleman caller? If you wanted to continue that conversation you could have asked me round for coffee like a regular person.”

“And break my streak of only one visit per  _ lovely lady _ ? Absolutely not. I have a reputation to uphold as most eligible Weasley.”

“I'm sure Charlie’s not offended at all.”

“Nah, he’s fine. It’s me they all know is the  _ Desirable _ No. 1”

“Come off it, that’s obviously Charlie! Older, wiser,  _ dragon tamer _ ? I’d take him over you any day.”

“Oh, would you? Are you so sure about that?”

_ Oh.  _ So that was how it was going to go. Hermione wasn’t sure about whoever this new Fred was that joked with her like this and spent time with her alone, unannounced, and didn’t question why she seemed off. He questioned if she was alright, but never if she was sure that she wasn’t alright. Refreshing only began to skim the surface. Revitalizing. Fortifying. Inspiriting. Exhilarating. Fulfilling. Hermione could live with fulfilling. 

“Yes, yes I am. You know, I’m quite the dragon tamer myself. Have you heard of a little thing called, oh, I don’t know? The  _ Great Gringotts Escape _ ? Seem to recall myself taming a dragon. A  _ blind _ dragon.”

“Ooh ho ho, fancying yourself a dragon tamer now? Where’s that dragon at this very moment? In the barn?” Fred snorted. They both knew the real story behind the breakout, and they both knew that dragon was well and truly gone. “You can have Charlie if you want ickle Granger. It’ll just secure my position as most eligible Weasley  _ forever _ .”

“Alright, give it up. I don’t  _ actually _ want to get with Charlie.”

“Oh, I know.” Fred winked at Hermione and flopped backward onto her bed to lay beside her. “It’s just loads of fun to mess with you.”

“Wonderful.” She fell backward, too, until they were both lying there, side by side, not touching but very close to it if either of them so much as twitched.

“You’re rather remarkable, you know.” She felt his head fall in her direction and resolved to keep her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Hmm.”

“You’re rather remarkable. You did all this grand stuff before you were even seventeen, bested nearly all of us in every class.”

“ _ Not _ divination.”

“No, not divination but that one’s rubbish anyway. You managed to keep the Golden Boy alive for seven years straight, including a year on the run – big feat with that accident prone twat – you managed to bring down one of the worst wizards of all time.”

“I sound great when you put it all like that.”

“You  _ are _ great.”

“I read books, I practice things, I put in time and a half in order to give something it’s due diligence. Everybody knows that’s why I could do it all.”

“Hermione, your nickname is literally the  _ Brightest Witch of Her Age _ . Even if people think of you as a stuffy bookworm, they cant take away from you that you are the one to beat, the one to watch. Hell, you’ll be Minister one day mark my words.”

“Professor McGonagall said something similar to me in fifth year.”

“See?”

“I suppose.”

She felt him turn his gaze back to the ceiling. She felt him take a deep breath and hold it. She felt him flex his fingers gently as they almost imperceptibly brushed against hers. She felt him exhale.

“You saved me, too.”

“What? No, I didn’t. Percy did.”

“ _ No _ , you did. I mean, yeah Percy literally pulled me out from under the rubble and hexed Rookwood into oblivion, but  _ you _ saved me.” Fred was still staring upwards, but Hermione got brave and turned her face ever so slightly towards him. She could just about see the tip of his nose, his cheek, the curve of his hair hiding his eyes. “Granger, you have no idea what was going through my head after that. I- I don’t know what happened afterward but I was sitting in St. Mungo’s day in and day out watching George’s face get sallower even as he said he was healing, hearing muffled sobs from the hallway and knowing that someone was just told their loved one would never recover from one of Bellatrix’s parting curses and… And then you were there. And then you were there  _ every day _ . And we’ve… I’ve… I never told you how much I appreciated you doing that, reading to me, not looking at me like a pillow that needs to be fluffed to be right again. Mum kept doing that nesting thing every time she’d come to visit and it… I don’t know where I would be now without you.” He tried to catch his breath and it caught in his throat. For a moment, Hermione thought he might cry and she realized she hadn’t a clue what to do if that happened. She wasn’t positive she had ever seen Fred cry. But then, he turned his face and Hermione was surprised by the sudden eye contact. She wasn’t even sure when she had let her head fall completely to the side to take him in. Now they were face to face, inches away from each other. She could feel his hot breath against her lips. This felt taboo, somehow. 

“Fred, I…”

“I’m sorry, that was… That was too much all at once.”

“I’m really glad that I could be there.”

“Please understand that I think the world of you, Hermione, but I would never ask you to be perfect for any of us. You’re allowed to have flaws. You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to do things differently than any of us expect. You already subverted everyone’s expectations once. It’s well within your right to do it again if you want to.”

This was what understanding was. Hermione let out a breath that she hadn’t known she was holding and suddenly their closeness no longer felt taboo. Suddenly it felt like Fred’s face in front of her was a door labeled  _ Hermione Granger _ that she could step through and find herself.


	8. Not here, not now, not today.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is having a ball! Come one, come all! No fairy godmothers required, Hermione still manages to find herself in Cinderella's shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another small wait! I was traveling home. Wear your masks please, if you absolutely must travel like I had to it is absolutely imperative to keep yourselves and others safe.
> 
> Ah, Halloween. My favorite holiday. Fred and George's second favorite holiday after their birthday/April Fools. I have a suspicion Hermione doesn't mind it either.
> 
> I had an incredible amount of fun writing this one. Be ready to press play on Do the Hippogriff by The Weird Sisters! ;)

“So you’re still coming?”

“ _Yes_ , Fred, I am. I told you I was about a million times now, what can I do to get you to believe me?”

“Tell me what you’re coming as?” 

Fred loved the smirk that bloomed across Hermione’s face. She’d been keeping this secret from him ever since she’d mistakenly petrified him in her bedroom after dinner a few weeks ago. Halloween was tomorrow, and as such Fred and George’s shop, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, was closed today for preparations. The older twin saw it fit to invite Hermione over to help, unbeknownst to her, as he “knew she was free and wouldn’t mind a bit.” Hermione had thoughts about that but ultimately _didn’t_ mind as she’d had no plans for the day and knew it would be great fun to transform the space alongside the twins and Angelina who was also present to help out. Fred nearly throttled Ginny when she told him she wouldn’t be coming around as well, giving him the excuse that it seemed like “more of a couples thing”. Hogwash, he thought about that. She knew very well that he and Hermione weren’t seeing each other, Hermione had made sure of that after his little sister had woken them up that morning. Still, Fred didn’t mind hanging out with the Golden Girl. If he was being honest, he had started to feel a little golden in her presence as well. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Weasley. I’m _unbreakable_.”

“But are you coming?”

“Merlin! Frederick, will you give it up? Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes! I’m bloody coming!”

“Blimey Granger, we pop upstairs for one minute and you’re already shagging my brother? Keep it in your pants!” George and Angelina descended the stairs, decoration boxes in hand, sharing a lighthearted chuckle as they came upon the pair who were decidedly not engaging in any funny business. “I knew you were hot for Freddie but maybe wait until tomorrow, ‘kay?” 

It did sound rather lewd when Fred really thought about it. But that line of thinking had to be tamped down, didn’t it? Try as he might, after their heart to heart on her bed he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Her eyes, dark brown and curious. Watching them catch on his freckles as she surveyed his face that closely had quickly become one of his favorite memories of her – second only to the way her hair turned into a halo in the faux-golden sunset of St. Mungo’s. 

“Not. Funny. George!” Hermione chucked the nearest thing she could at the ginger (the talking Umbridge figurines, as it happened, who croaked “ _Order!”_ as they came into contact with George’s chest). 

“Nice shot, Hermione! Who knew you had good aim? Why don’t you play pickup with us next weekend?” Angelina was referring to the Weasley’s occasional quidditch pickup games after dinner which happened every time the extended family (partners included) were all together. As luck would or wouldn’t have it, they would be due to the twins’ ball.

“Ickle Granger here is notoriously afraid of flying. Isn’t that right?” Fred swung an arm over Hermione’s shoulders heavily, causing her to blush and squirm under it and attempting, in a futile manner, to shove him off. He kept his hold on her firm. 

“I hate flying,” Hermione grumbled. “Brooms don’t like me.”

“Brooms don’t like you? Rubbish. Fred’ll take you up with him next time, won’t you Fred?”

“Yeah, Freddie’ll let you ride his broom.” George waggled his eyebrows at his twin, who in turn took the opportunity to whack another Umbridge in his direction. With the strength of a former Gryffindor beater behind it, the figurine _smacked_ against George who cried out “ _Oi!”_ upon impact.

“We don’t want Granger on our team anyway.” Fred grinned, releasing Hermione from his grip.

“Oh yeah, and why is that?”

“She’s a right _swot,_ she is. It’d take us ages to start off, she’d be reading the players manual until sunrise!”

“That’s it, now I’m _absolutely not_ telling you what I’m going as!”

“But how else are we supposed to match?!”

* * *

The party was in full swing when Hermione arrived. She was fashionably late, though that certainly had not been on purpose. She’d never liked being on time for these events because that meant reporters and reporters meant being misquoted in the Daily Prophet, and Hermione simply did not have the desire to fight with the Prophet in the morning, after they published. If anything, Hermione was usually early. Being early meant avoiding the inevitable photocall, and often meant being able to talk with the host or hostess before the real party began (meaning an easier getaway if she chose to leave earlier in the night). She knew that Harry and Ginny were coming late, too, as they had gone to Godric’s Hollow that afternoon to visit his parent’s graves and weren’t in the mood to be photographed either. Hermione admired Harry for still wanting to come to a party, but he had insisted that he was fine saying “if they were alive not only would they want me to go, but they’d be there with bells on, too.” She didn’t see either Ginny or Harry yet, though.

Tonight Hermione had been late because her costume unexpectedly gave her more trouble than it might’ve been worth. Her hair simply would _not_ cooperate with her, and even after using Ginny’s preferred styling charms, and spelling her tresses to be far shorter than usual, it still hadn’t looked right. It was supposed to be wavy and fall to her shoulders, but of course, it was stalk-straight and refused to lengthen past her jaw when she’d magically shortened it too much. When Hermione had finally given up and put on her top hat it did look better, if only marginally, but she _had_ been going for film accuracy so it was disappointing all the same. 

Therefore, she was late. 

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes looked _fantastic_ if she did say so herself. The first level of the shop had been cleared of all merchandise and magically expanded to accommodate a large dance floor, bar area, and even a cluster of tables in the back. The second floor had been expanded as well but served more as a catwalk surrounding the dance floors, where partygoers could sit at a table and watch the frivolity below. The entire room was bathed in orange and purple lights, shifting and swirling around each other, and the ceiling had been charmed to reflect the night sky, like the Great Hall at Hogwarts (that was Hermione’s handiwork, and she was rather proud of it). Tonight’s sky was supposed to hold a comet shower, and as such Fred had been wise to suggest the charm.

“ _WILLY WONKA!”_

Hermione turned to see Fred, in head to toe _gold,_ with a brown, curly wig atop his head.

“ _What_ ?” She exclaimed breathlessly, laughter overtaking her body. “What _are_ you?!”

“I’m _you!_ I’m the Golden Girl! Hang on, George and Ange are ‘round here somewhere, they’re dressed as you, too! We’re the Golden Trio!” 

Hermione doubled over, unable to catch her breath from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Fred, in a head to toe, skintight, golden suit of some sort was just too much for her eyes to take in. All of a sudden, as if by twin telepathy, George appeared behind him in the same golden suit with a haphazard black _mop_ of a wig on his head, scar drawn in lipstick, and round spectacles drawn _on his face_ in eyeliner. Angelina appeared at Fred’s other side in yet another gold suit (it suited her nicely where it looked bloody awkward on the boys, Hermione noticed) with a bright _red_ , not orange _,_ wig in a bowl cut atop her head. 

“ _The Golden Trio_ ” Hermione was still laughing.

“What did you do to her, Fred?”

“Nothing! Just showed her the costume. Though she’d be flattered, honestly. What is it, Hermione? Does it not make my arse look nice?” Fred turned the side with a hand on his hip, jutting his rear end out in mockery of the witches who usually graced the cover of Witch Weekly.

“Did she already get something to drink? Maybe it’s the gigglewater?”

“No! _No_ , I’m sorry,” Hermione huffed trying to reign herself in. “This,” she gestured vaguely to the three of them, “is the most brilliant laugh I’ve had in a long time. _Thank you!_ ” Angelina and George high-fived behind Fred. Hermione pointed between the Weasley boys, “but why did neither of you go dressed as Ron? Saves you a whole wig!”

“Ah, ickle Granger, this is _funnier_.”

Hermione couldn’t hold it in anymore and another great _HA!_ escaped her. “You’re – You’re right! Pardon me. I bow down to the Kings, and Queen, of Halloween.” She made a great sweeping bow, extending her orange top hat in one hand towards them.

Hermione had come as who else but Willy Wonka himself. It would be a nice treat for Fred, she had thought when planning the costume before shaking her head and reminding herself that that was ridiculous. Fred would see her costume and laugh and they’d move on, right? Even if things had been… trending differently lately?

“Oh, Willy Wonka? Nice one, Hermione!” Exclaimed Angelina. “Let’s have a twirl, then!”

Hermione grinned and obliged, setting her top hat back atop her head and crossing one foot over the other to do an exaggerated slow turn, arms outstretched and cane tucked under one arm. She’d found a purple pantsuit at a vintage shop in muggle London a few weeks back and had the idea instantly. Hermione had transfigured the set into a velvet material, adding tails to the coat just for fun, and a glittery purple thread amongst the weave for extra sparkle. She wasn’t a sparkle kind of girl, but one night a year couldn’t hurt. After she’d transfigured one of her winter beanies into a bespoke orange top hat and affixed one of the _horrendous_ frilly bow ties she’d found in the Burrow’s attic (it reminded her quite a bit of Ron’s ruff from the Yule Ball in fourth year), Hermione had found herself quite pleased with her costume. She liked to think that if Gene Wilder knew she existed he’d be proud as well. 

When she’d spun all the way around again, Hermione once again found herself eye to eye with Fred, who had a funny look on his face. She couldn’t place it, he looked almost confunded.

“You certainly clean up nice, Granger.” He cleared his throat, “but I find it _fascinating_ that we dressed as each other for our little shindig!”

“Each other? How do you mean?”

“Well, I’m clearly _you_. Spitting image, really. And you’re clearly me! Willy Wonka Weasley and all that.”

“Got me there, Freddie. You caught me. Now, where can a girl get a drink?” 

“Right this way, Mr. Wonka, sir.” Fred offered his arm to Hermione and she accepted, letting herself be whisked away through the party.

“Was that just ‘Mione and Fred?” Ginny and Harry had appeared next to George and Angelina. They were dressed as Superman and Supergirl, complete with capes.

“Yep, they dressed as each other.” Angelina winked at Ginny.

“I thought she was going as Willy Wonka?” Asked Harry, perpetually oblivious.

“She did. And he went as the Golden Girl.”

Ginny and Harry stepped back to observe the other couple for a moment, and after a second when Harry still had a look of confusion across his face Ginny exclaimed, “Oh! I’ve got it! You’re them! You’re the _Golden Trio!_ Nice one!”

The real Harry Potter, whose wild hair had been excruciatingly slicked back and left with a single curl laid upon his forehead, observed the fake Harry Potter across from him. George stared back with a shit-eating grin. “Nice try, George, but the scar’s on the wrong side.” He winked before offering Ginny’s arm and following after Fred and Hermione. George’s grin vanished as he turned to Angelina.

“Really?”

“Hey, you’re the one who practically grew up with him in your house every summer. Shouldn’t you have known?”

* * *

The DJ was playing all of the hits of yesteryear, and every new song that played found Hermione feeling more and more like she did in fourth year, attempting to keep up with Viktor and his friends but loving every minute. Except here, and now, she was an adult and she was amongst the family she had forged for herself. Unsurprisingly, the attending members of the Weasley clan, partners and all, as well as Neville and Luna (though Hermione was sure she’d seen him dancing with Hannah a few minutes ago), Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, et al. They were clustered in a large circle in the dead center of the dance floor, each and every one feeling as if they were at the center of the universe. 

Fred and George had made a great fuss over announcing their new acquisition of the Zonko’s property in Hogsmeade shortly after Hermione had arrived and gotten settled with a drink (gigglewater was not just a 1920s slang term for liquor anymore, she hadn’t been able to stop giggling until Harry had thrust a glass of firewhiskey into her hands), much to the excitement of the crowd. She had to hand it to them, they were the life of any party but they were shrewd businessmen nonetheless. Magick, Mayhem & Mischief had, unfortunately for the twins, not been snuffed out just yet, but judging by this crowd they wouldn’t be threatening Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes any time in the future.

Ginny had one arm around Hermione and one arm around Harry when _Do the Hippogriff_ by the Weird Sisters came on. Every partygoer between the ages of 20 and 30 went up in _hysterics_ . All of a sudden the already boisterous dance floor was absolutely raucous with no hope of calm in sight. Neville and Luna turned to each other and immediately started screaming the words back and forth as they turned in circles. Harry had swiftly taken Ginny up in mock waltz form and was dragging her around their friend group in a dance that was somehow _better_ than he had been all those years ago. Angelina and George were jumping up and down in sync with each other in what Hermione thought looked like a mad bid to see who could reach the moon first. Ron had Maisy atop his shoulders, and she was waving her arms so violently it was a wonder Ron was able to stay upright. All around her, people were dancing along to the music in various impressions of trolls, hippogriffs, ogres, unicorns, and any creature that had been mentioned in the song. 

“ _MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA!”_

“Come on, Granger! Dance with me!” 

Hermione found herself face to face with Fred, as close as they had been the other evening in her bedroom. He was sporting that incredibly becoming smirk, a slight hint of a dimple appearing in his cheek, and waggling his eyebrows as he took her hand in his and spun her around. 

“ _MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA!”_

Something within Hermione bubbled up again, as if she’d just taken another gulp of gigglewater, and she found herself grinning right back at him, nose scrunched as he spun her, as they moved together, as the crowd jostled them closer still. When the guitar solo hit, the crowd howled in time with the music and suddenly the whole room was spinning. The outer dancers had joined hands and were traveling in a clockwise circle, then another circle was traveling counterclockwise inside of the first. Then they were really at the center of it, Fred and Hermione against the world, stuck staring at each other as the music broke into a crescendo and the spinning slowed to a final strike of the guitar. 

And then Celestina Warbeck came on, and the mood shifted, and Fred was still looking at Hermione, and Hermione was still looking at Fred.

And then George, holding Angelina close, nudged Fred towards Hermione. 

And all of a sudden she was face to face with that door labeled _Hermione Granger_ again, and she was wondering if she could open it. She was wondering what might happen if she fell into it.

And then his hands left hers and traveled up to her face, holding her head gently in between his hands.

And, out of her body, Hermione felt herself press her cheek against his warm palm. She felt him take another step towards her and press impossibly closer. She felt a twitch in her soul telling her to reach for the door, pull it wide open, and fall in.

And then when his eyes fluttered shut and he bent down towards her, she ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops?


	9. Suddenly, I can run marathons.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the almost kiss sparks a plot between siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally began writing this for NaNoWriMo, but started about 10 days late and then got sidetracked by the holiday, so with this chapter I officially hit 25k marking my halfway. It's December, but I'm committed to hitting 50k, and though I'm not sure if that'll take me to the end of the story just yet, I'm also committed to finishing this! I love writing this story, even in the part we're in now where things are rocky and unsure. The real magic is about to begin, I promise.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think!

Hermione hadn’t set an alarm, but that hardly mattered. She was still awake. Rolling over, she observed the side of the room that used to be Ginny’s. It was largely unchanged from before the final battle. There were still Holyhead Harpies posters stuck on the wall, their movements beginning to slow as the magic faded from the discount merchandise. Over the head of her bed was a Gryffindor Quidditch banner, under the bed were her old wellies from various years. Her desk was clean save for an array of old quills in a cup. Her house tie was dangling from the end of the curtain rod above the window. It was almost as if Ginny were at school. Mrs. Weasley hadn’t touched this room, though Hermione wasn’t sure why she would as she had been living in it herself for quite some time. When Ginny had moved out into Harry’s, all she’d taken were the photographs littered around the room, a few decor gifts from Luna, and her clothes. Something about “starting fresh” had been important, Hermione recalled. 

It must have been early, she noted, as the light through the window was still a cold, dim, blue casting a pale tone around the room. It was cold, too. Sitting up, Hermione noticed her Halloween costume discarded on the ground by the bed. When she’d arrived home in the early morning, drunk and terrified, she’d stumbled up the stairs as quietly as she possibly could (they creaked horribly on the step next to Molly and Arthur’s room and Hermione was sure she’d woken them up.). She’d peeled off her clothes hastily, eager to rid herself of the night, eager to rid herself of the smell of fireworks and cinnamon. 

Hermione swung her bare feet to the floor. She could have used a good warming charm, but she didn’t think she deserved one. Crossing to her dresser, Hermione grabbed a pair of fluffy socks and then her robe off the back of her chair. Safely bundled, she felt a little warmer but her fingers were still freezing. A walk would do her some good, bugger the time.

After she’d successfully dodged the creaky step on her way downstairs, Hermione crossed quickly to the pile of shoes by the entrance. She stepped into her maroon wellies and pulled open the front door with a harsh yank. Immediately, Hermione was greeted by the crisp November air. Eyes watering, she crossed her arms and tucked her hands into her armpits for warmth and then set off.

The dew had frozen over slightly, and it took a moment for her body heat to melt the ice that clung to her pajama pants as she made her way through the long grass, the cow parsley, the alexanders. With every step, she took she gained speed. By the time Hermione emerged from the long grass and felt the familiar relief of Burrow’s wards shimmering and releasing her person, her jeans were thoroughly soaked in morning dew and her throat was burning from the pace she’d set. She made no attempt to dry herself, or catch her breath, or vanish the mud that had accrued on her boots. She burst onto the path that would bring her into the woods, but today the cobblestones were slick with frost and she nearly slipped, putting her hands out at the last second. Righting herself clumsily, Hermione wiped her palms on her pants and shook her hair out of her face. She’d tiredly returned it to its normal state of mess last night on her way out of the party. She needed her hair, it was as intrinsic to her identity as Harry’s glasses; it was her own personal invisibility cloak whenever she felt vulnerable. 

The bridge stood as normal, though the stalks of fennel and leafy ferns on either side of the stream’s bank had wilted and shrunk in the cold. Hermione shoved aside a particularly large, wet frond from the board with her foot and stepped up. The stream purled quietly below her, misting over slightly. Hermione was consumed with gratitude for having a quiet place and to hide amongst nature, though just close enough to the Burrow it didn’t feel like running to the Forest of Dean once more. She didn’t sit, but leant against the railing and stared upstream. The steam of her breath swirled in front of her eyes, mingling with the early fog. 

“ _Shit_.”

Hermione untucked a hand to rake it through her hair, and then over her face as if she was scrubbing a memory. _What happened last night?_ She wondered. There was something brewing between her and Fred, that was undeniable. _Why now_ ? It had been years since he recovered until recently they had never spent much time together alone, until recently he’d always seemed so flippant and impersonal with her. Though, he had become much more … serious, for lack of better explanation, after the battle. Whenever she found herself engaged in conversation with Fred, they’d been able to find common ground more easily than before. Everyone was affected. Everyone grew. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Fred Weasley could change and grow, too. But still, she thought _why him?_ Which was a fair thought to have. Hermione Granger: Golden Girl, know-it-all, bookworm. Buzzkill. Who was she to find herself harboring feelings for Fred Weasley: Prankster Extraordinaire, ladies man, life of the party. On paper, they seemed like an interesting match she supposed. Perhaps a muggle would find them a fascinating topic for some hopelessly romantic novel that ended in kissing, and fireworks, and _happily ever after_ . _But the fact of the matter is_ , thought Hermione, _that is unrealistic and impractical_.

But then there was the question _why me_? that popped into her mind, unbidden. 

She wasn’t sure of the answer to that. Of course, Hermione didn’t think she looked totally unfortunate, but she didn’t fit the type that she knew Fred to go for. Look at Angelina, who he’d been seeing in school, she was _fit_ and athletic and Hermione was… neither. Maybe during the war, she had been rather athletic but that was due to necessity and she had been so underfed the whole time that she’d just gotten smaller, and felt more delicate, rather than fit and strong. Then there was the matter of her personality. Hermione knew that people saw her as far too serious, far too fastidious, to be any sort of great fun. Fred Weasley wanted someone who was _great fun_ , right? Though Hermione did think she had the propensity to be a good companion in that sort of a way. Maybe Ron and Harry didn’t think she was that funny, but she and Ginny always had a good laugh together. She and Fred had good laughs together… And he had been about to kiss her.

Regardless, Hermione felt much too unqualified, much too broken still to entertain the idea of letting herself into anybody’s life, let alone Fred’s. There was still so much hovering over her in the wake of the war. There were still her parents to care about, still their treatment that was moving _much_ too slowly for her liking. There was still so much research to be done into her scars, she had barely scraped the surface. Hermione still had to accept that she _had_ scars now. Scars that would never fade even if she could figure out a counter curse or a salve that might remove them. She was still living at his bloody parent’s house because she was scared of being alone, for Merlin’s sake. 

There it was. Hermione didn’t want to be alone. But here she was, on her bridge, in the cold. Alone. 

So she crossed to the other side of the bridge and ran for as long as her feet would carry her.

* * *

George woke, wrapped in his girlfriend, incredibly happy. He thought the night had gone splendidly. At the end of the evening, they’d set off fireworks that shone purple and orange, when they reached the crowd a touch of the sparks turned everyone’s costumes into versions of Fred and George’s classic matching suits with “ _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes”_ emblazoned across the back between the shoulder blades. It was great fun. He and Angelina had floo’d back to their apartment and toasted the celebration before tearing each other’s modified costumes off and doing what couples do.

It had been a wonderful party, even if Percy had arrived late and begun complaining about how it was “ _Hardly a_ ball _!_ ” He smiled at the memory of his brother, dressed up like Charlie Chapin, hat askew from the whizbangs that had coincidentally set off as he arrived. A good night indeed. 

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

George shifted, turning his head towards the window and finding the owl that had probably woken him. He slithered out from underneath Angelina, careful not to wake her lest he incur her wrath. On his side table, bless his past self, was a draught of Pepper-Up Potion which he drank heartily before letting the owl in. Taking heed to feed the owl a treat as he took the letter, George quietly thanked the bird and told him to wait just a moment for a response. It was Ginny’s handwriting.

_Georgie! Why didn’t you tell me you knew something was up, too? Should’ve gotten in on a plan together. Lunch today? Tell me what you know!_

_-Gin_

_P.S. Harry won’t stop going on about how brilliant last night was. Big feat, considering. Thank you._

He grabbed a stray quill off his bedside table, scratching out a brief reply on the back of his sister’s letter.

_Glad to hear it, Ginevra. Give him a kiss for me. I’ll pop over about eleven-thirty? Game on._

He fixed the letter back to the owl’s leg and sent him off. Of course, he’d known that Fred had another fascination as of late. He’d not been able to guess with who until last night, but when Hermione Granger showed up and his brother ditched him _immediately_ , there was no question. She’d even dressed as her favorite character, who was remarkably similar to her favorite twin, though George would never say that aloud. And his _sister_ knew about whatever was going on between the two of them. Curious, that was, that Fred would tell Ginny but now his own brother? He’d get to the bottom of that later, as it was an outrage against twin code, but for now, it was time to think up a game plan. The pair were clearly enamored by each other. Hell, Fred had nearly planted one on her in the middle of the dance floor, but when he and Angie had twirled back towards them the almost-couple was nowhere to be found. 

_Maybe they left together_ , George thought with a slightly giddy step towards the kitchen. No sooner had he started the kettle, though, as Fred came through the fireplace. 

“What in the bloody hell were you playing at last night, Forge?” 

_Oh_? Well, his brother certainly didn’t sound like he’d had a spellbinding night with a legendary witch. He sounded rather peeved, instead, which was a usual sound for George. 

“Whatever do you mean, sweet Gred?” 

“I mean you pushing me into Granger. What the hell.”

“You’re telling me you _didn’t_ need a push?”

The water in the kettle began to bubble, the metal groaning against the fire roaring beneath it. Fred looked somewhat crazed, sleep-deprived, and most importantly he was still wearing the transfigured WWW costume that all of their guests had been tricked into last night. George hadn’t thought Fred had stayed that long.

“No, I _didn’t_.”

“Why you kiss her, then?”

“Well, I didn’t did I? She bloody _ran away_.”

This was news. This was news that surely Ginny didn’t have if she wanted to scheme together. Maybe it had been a trick of the light that his brother and the bookworm were dancing that closely, that intimately with just each other, eyes locked on the other’s like if they were torn apart the world might rip in half. _Nah, impossible_ , George thought. _Those two have it bad_.

“She ran? She’s quite fast, isn’t she. No wonder you couldn’t catch up.” The kettle was whining now, only a moment away from being ready. “Tea?” He grabbed three mugs out of the cabinet before Fred could reply in the affirmative, placing a teabag in each. 

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You like her, right?”

“Hermione? No, I just got caught up. She’s–” Fred’s voice cracked and faded. The kettle whistled and George turned off the stove, pouring boiling water into each mug.

“Usual?”

“Yes, thanks.”

George went to the fridge and retrieved the carton of milk, adding a splash to each mug before returning it to the fridge. He crossed to another cabinet and fished out his sugar container, dropping one cube into Ange’s mug, and two into Fred’s. He offered his brother his cuppa, picking up Angelinas and dashing back into their bedroom to leave it on her side table, casting a stasis charm so it would still be hot when she woke. When he returned to the kitchen his brother was guzzling the tea like it was the Elixir of Life. 

“She’s like a sister, is that what you were going to say?” Fred nodded weakly, still attached by the mouth to his mug. “Freddie I think you’re past that one, try again.”

“It’s hopeless.”

“It’s not. Try again, I’m listening.” George blew the steam off his tea and leant back against his countertop. 

“She’s Ron’s girl.”

George made a noise like a timer going off. “Wrong. Again.”

“She’s…” Fred trailed off, eyes glazing over for a second before he downed his tea and set it in the sink. “She’s beautiful.” 

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” George clapped his brother on the shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the couch in his living room. This wasn’t a kitchen sink kind of conversation, he’d wager. “So, what, you two not kissed yet? Told her how you feel?”

“Clearly not! Come on, Forge, keep up. She _ran_ from me last night. Think she’d do that if we were on the same page? Clearly, she’s not interested and I just made a massive cock of myself. How am I supposed to sit there on Sunday and pretend I didn’t fuck up her life even more and… _confuse_ her even more? You know she already hates going to those things. Mum just harps on her the next morning about how _Bill and Fleur looked just_ darling _, didn’t they Hermione? Oh, have you any information on when Ginny wants to go dress shopping? Did you hear Percy and Audrey are thinking of moving in together? I wonder when George is going to propose, did you hear Ron and Maisy are talking about moving in already?_ It’s never-ending, she says. Now it’ll be _So you rejected my son, you harpy, get out of my house!_ You remember how it was when Ron–”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You’re bloody crazy, you are. Mum’s not that bad!” he dropped his voice, “and I’m not thinking of popping that question for _quite_ some time.”

“Yes, George, she _is_ . Think I haven’t gotten my fair share? Last weekend I stuck around after dinner because I wanted to apologize to Granger about the whole … you know, _thing_ at the flat the other week. About her parents, yeah?” George nodded, he recalled Angelina feeling awful about the whole thing after, but Fred said he’d handle it. “We had a– a heart to heart of sorts. Ended up laying next to each other _in her bed_ , just talking. For hours. Middle of the night kind of hours. She doesn’t need me cocking up her life right now. Trust me.”

“Right then, what are you going to do? You can’t just pretend it never happened.”

“Can’t I? Maybe I– I was drunk, right? Can’t remember a thing!” George burst out laughing. His twin was quite the inventor, always coming up with novel ideas and clever fixes to problems in their product development but he had always been the worse of the two in dealing with people problems. After years of skating by with off-kilter compliments and endless sarcasm, it was a wonder Fred had been so well-liked at school at all. Fortunately, he’d gotten better, but the matter of Fred acting seriously was still a lost cause in George’s eyes.

“That is the dumbest idea you have ever come up with, you bloody wanker. How’ll that make her feel?"

“Not great, that’s for sure, but at least that means it wasn’t a conscious muck up on my part and we can move _past_ it?”

“Normally I wouldn’t advise this, you’re a right mess, but have you considered _talking_ to her about it?”

“No, no I couldn’t possibly.”

* * *

“Right, well, he’s hopelessly into her,” George announced as he arrived on the threshold of the fireplace at 12 Grimmauld Place. “Absolutely besotted.”

“Georgie! You’re late!”

“He showed up this morning practically pulling his hair out because he _tried to kiss her last night_. Might’ve been my fault it happened, but I’m not blind. You saw what I did, right? Had to talk him down from running to Romania to live with Charlie.”

“Come sit, I had Kreacher make us cottage pie – we only had beef.” 

George pushed his sister over in thanks, laughing as she tried to knock him over in turn. The pair made their way down the hall into the townhouse’s large kitchen where they came upon Kreacher in a frilly apron, pulling a dish from the oven.

“Mistress Weasley tell me eleven-thirty. Master Weasley arrives at twelve-thirty. Late. Lunch, done. But late.”

“Oh shut up, Kreacher. He’s here. I’m sure the pie’s still good.”

“Yes, Mistress Weasley. Of course, Mistress Weasley.” Kreacher set the hot dish in the middle of the table between two place settings and snapped his finger. The pitcher filled with water and two slices of lemon materialized, floating in it. Then he snapped again and he was gone.

“Still barmy, that one, but he’s warmed up,” Ginny explained, tucking into the pie and serving herself and her brother heaping portions. “Good cook though, so I can’t complain. Last month Hermione made Harry give him the weekends off, though, which hasn’t gone over well. Especially since that’s the only time Harry’s ever home and coincidentally the days of the week when I can’t be bothered to cook.”

“The dilemma. Harry’s half-decent though, isn’t he?” George shoveled a forkful into his mouth and agreed Kreacher was well versed in the kitchen. Nothing on Mum, of course.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to make him feel like he has to.” His sister shrugged and poured them both a glass of water. “So Fred freaked, huh? What caused that?”

“She ran.”

“No! He tried to kiss her and she ran away?”

“Yup.”

“Yikes.”

“He thinks he’s cocked it all up.”

“Well, how did it happen, we didn’t see.”

“They were dancing, I nudged him forward because _obviously_ , right? Warbeck was on.” Ginny nodded in agreement, taking a bite of her lunch. Celestina Warbeck was their parents' singer of choice, to the point that it was practically impressed upon their children that she was Cupid herself. “He leaned, she freaked, she bolted. I didn’t see it either, but that’s what the boy wonder said.”

“Honestly, we’re adults, right? She should’ve come dressed as bloody Cinderella if she wanted to flee at midnight. Give the guy some warning.”

“I’m thinking that they’re into each other regardless. Fred said something about Hermione feeling pressured by Mum. They’re probably both scared. Imagine, last two of the group without ties to someone, save for Charlie but Charlie’s _Charlie_ ,” 

Ginny nodded again, “She’s still hung up on it all, isn’t she? Like Harry."

“Suppose we need to get her out of her shell a little more.”

“Suppose we need to get _Fred_ to get her out of her shell a little more.”

“So, Sunday dinner? What’s the plan?”

Ginny smirked and George felt fear strike him. She was worse than he and Fred when she got like that. _This is gonna be good._


	10. White lies soon grow color-blind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Hermione thinks she can get away with making eyes at her dinner plate all night. And you know what? That might've resulted in a better end to her evening. (Fred, just say what you mean buddy.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one for you!

“Alright, alright! Out, all of you! Out of the kitchen until it’s ready. Go on, shoo!” Molly Weasley shepherded her flock from the kitchen with a snap of a dishtowel, and the not-so-children who had descended like a murder of crows scattered to the wind, unhappily but with small spoils clutched between their fingers. 

Ginny nibbled on a toasty bit of the roast she’d managed to pinch off of the corner of the main dish before she’d been expelled. Her lips closed around the tip of her thumb as she popped the morsel into her mouth, savoring the crispy edge and the tantalizing juice of the meat. Roast with potatoes and veg, the youngest Weasley’s favorite meal, which Molly knew well. Ginny smiled to herself as she caught Harry looking at her wantonly from across the room. The pair had purposefully avoided visiting for slightly too long in order to secure what they thought was the most desirable family meal. The most decadent. The hardest to make for themselves in the big kitchen at Grimmauld that they _really_ should have been personally using more often. Harry was still looking at her from across the den, hungrily, and whether he was jealous she’d successfully stolen a bite or if his gaze was hooked on her lips still sucking gently on the tip of her thumb, Ginny wasn’t sure. 

George has successfully nicked a cube of fried potato and had eagerly popped it in his mouth without hesitation, too hot as it was having just come off the baking sheet. Angelina had managed a wedge as well and had taken a moment to blow on it before savoring the bite, elbowing her boyfriend playfully as he attempted to swallow his bite. Fred usually showed up for the weekly filching of food from Molly’s kitchen and was quite obviously missing from today’s showing (he usually fought back against the dishtowel assault, going back for seconds and sometimes thirds of the pilfered dinner). George glanced around, swinging an arm across Ange’s shoulders, searching for Hermione. His gaze landed on the mischievous eyes of his little sister who didn’t seem the least surprised that neither had shown yet.

She had predicted it, and George should’ve trusted her intuition. Ginny had said that Fred would probably stay away, not wanting Hermione to feel unwelcome in her own home, but that Hermione would take a late lunch and tell Molly that she was feeling poorly in order to avoid the largest peak of the gathering where she’d inevitably be sat across from Fred in her usual chair. So far, ickle Ginevra was spot on.

Ron was on the floor with young Teddy Lupin, who was animatedly telling the redhead about his first day of the pre-kindy program Andromeda had put him in so that he could meet other young wizards his age. Maisy, kneeling behind Ron, seemed quite pleased in her boyfriend’s ability to converse and entertain the three-year-old. He seemed quite content to listen to the toddler as long as they were playing with his charmed set of knight figurines.

George made his way over to his sister, stepping past Maisy and Ron and taking time to drag Harry into a quick headlock and ruffling his hair for lusting after Ginny so clearly (it was his brotherly duty! Nevermind they were to be married in the new year).

“No sign of her?” He spoke under his breath, making a show of watching Teddy clamber over Ron. 

“Not a creak. The light’s on, though. Saw it when we got here. And Fred?”

“Said he had some business at the shop and would be late.”

Ginny hummed in response, clearly pleased with her predictions. Fred grinned down at Teddy who had turned his hair into a fiery-orange, growing it into ringlets. “Bloody idiots, they are.” He murmured through his teeth.

“Right well, we keep their usual seats open, in case they both show. Halfway through I’ll sneak into the kitchen and vanish the pud–”

“–Mum’s going to kill you–”

“–and I’ll suggest she send them to the village for store-bought. I _know_ she’ll kill me.” She turned to him and pursed her lips. “ _Thanks_.” 

George chuckled and reached behind her back to tug her braid before returning to Angelina, who had been swept up in conversation by Fleur. The ladies had never quite found common ground and had caused George and Bill to develop the habit of never leaving them alone together. 

At some point during the attempt at mediating their conversation (about the Harpies uniforms, no less), George looked up to find Hermione reading to Teddy on the couch. His gaze darted quickly towards Ginny who was engaged in conversation with Harry but was directly in the path from the stairs to the couch and had likely encountered Hermione when she’d emerged. 

_Plan in motion, then_ , he thought.

Coincidentally, his mum’s voice rang out above the small roar that an entire flock of Weasleys and Weasley-adjacents tended to create, calling time to head to the table for dinner. The stampede started, and George stuck close to Angie, ending up taking their usual seats. Fred usually sat to his left, and so he leant across that chair to chat with little Teddy on the other side, asking about Teddy’s favorite friend at pre-kinder in order to deter others from taking the obviously absent twin’s spot. He saw that Hermione sat across the table from the empty seat, fulfilling her typical role between Ginny (with Harry on her right) and Audrey (with Percy on her left). 

Ginny turned to Hermione after they’d sat and struck up an inquiry about how the brunette’s research was going. As her friend lit up retelling her day’s discoveries, Ginny took the opportunity to observe her. She was wearing a sky-blue wrap sweater that tied to one side of the waist just under her bust, dark wash jeans, and she had the front half of her hair pinned back via two elegant braids. Hermione looked rather lovely, Ginny thought. Hermione had even added a touch of blush to the usual mascara-only makeup routine. This, Ginny knew, would be most curious if she didn’t already know about what had happened on Wednesday night. 

“Tuck in, everybody!” Molly enthused, causing a flurry of utensils that might rival the welcome feast at Hogwarts.

Hermione had just been passed the grand tray of roast (charmed to relieve some of its gargantuan weight) to serve herself when someone dropped into the seat across from her and nearly startled her into dropping dinner.

“Oh, Fred dear! Right on time for serving. Good boy!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mum.”

Hermione cleared her throat and set to serving herself, keeping her eyes strictly between her plate and the roast tray. Hurrying to move on and limit any attention drawn, Hermione handed the dish off to Ginny who regarded her with a fair amount of amusement on her face. Hermione turned to her plate, somewhat angrily stabbing the meat with a fork and shoveling some into her mouth without looking up.

“Bloody hell, ‘Mione. Slow down will you?” Hermione swallowed and rolled her eyes.

“You’re one to speak, Ronald.” As she turned to return focus to her dinner, Hermione came dangerously close to regarding Fred in all his glory, ultimately avoiding doing so but not avoiding a brief contact with George who shared a similar expression to his sister.

“Finished everything at the shop, Fred?” Asked Angelina, leaning over George to reach his twin. 

“Yeah. Got everything done. Thought it would take longer, honestly.” 

Hermione’s breath caught when he spoke. She was acutely aware of her feet being mere inches from his under the table, acutely aware that even looking down at her plate, her manners kept her from keeping her head straight down and that meant she could see Fred’s hands. Hermione could see Fred’s hands pick up his fork and knife and could see his hand disappear as he brought a morsel of food to his lips and return to the plate again for another. She could see how tightly he gripped the utensils, and could see part of his torso, and noted that he was breathing shallowly. 

Ginny and George, meanwhile, could see that Fred’s knuckles would whiten considerably every time he glanced at Hermione and saw that she practically had her nose buried in her dinner. They could see that Hermione had stopped trying to feed herself and that her knife and fork were paused halfway through cutting a piece of carrot in half. They could see how hard the pair were trying not to look at each other and then–

“Oh, shit!”

“Language, Ginevra!”

Ginny had knocked her glass of wine to the side, spilling it all over Hermione’s pretty sweater. Hermione yelped and stood, knocking over her own glass in the direction of Fred who in turn swore and immediately began dabbing at the spill that had quite unfortunately pooled in his lap. Had either of them been looking upwards, they would have noticed the look shared between George and Ginny, and the gentle swat of Angelina as George made a move to dump his drink on his twin for fun.

Hermione, not thinking of the wand that was concealed in her boot, tried to wring out her sweater to no avail and excused herself to the bathroom for a quick wash up. She wasn’t terribly upset about the sweater, but as her anxiety overseeing Fred had taken over so much of her mind, tiny tears began to well in the corners of her eyes. 

“ _Bugger_ ,” she gasped, letting herself into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She turned on the tap and let the cold water run for a moment before slipping off the sweater and holding the stained bits under the stream. The wine ran from the material quickly, only leaving the tiniest of traces, and Hermione bit back a sob. She turned the tap off and wrung out the material. “ _Fuck_.” Her tears spilled hotly down her cheeks as she steadied herself against the sink. Finally lifting her face, Hermione met her own gaze in the mirror. 

“Crying over a boy, are we?” Squawked the mirror. _Leave it to Molly to have an enchanted mirror in the downstairs water closet, prying into your private life in the saddest moments_ , Hermione thought. It wasn’t as if she came in here often, as she had sole ownership of what they’d used to call the “children’s bathroom” on the third floor. 

“Piss off,” she said brusquely, wiping at her cheeks. It wouldn’t do to go back into a room of Weasleys looking like she’d just had a good cry; there would be a never-ending stream of _Hermione, what happened? Hermione, are you alright? Hermione, let me get you a cuppa._ Nobody could withstand that when they simply wanted to fade into the background. This is what Hermione yearned for today, not knowing who had seen her run from Fred the other night or who had heard a distorted version through the Weasley gossip line. 

_knock knock._

“One second!” Hermione called, voice shaking and sitting an octave above her typical range.

“No problem.” She froze. It was Fred, probably come to do the same as she had and make an attempt at cleaning off before the liquid stained. She tugged her damp sweater back over her head and hastily opened the door, hoping slightly to catch him before he meandered back to the table, but he had already gone. 

When Hermione sat down again, somebody had _scourgified_ the table clean of their spilled wine and Fred was tucking into his meal again. This time their eyes met as she sat back down, only to be torn away from his gaze by Ginny.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Hermione. I really didn’t mean– _butterfingers_ , y’know?” she laughed sheepishly. 

“No problem, I know it wasn’t on purpose.” Hermione fixed her with a pointed stare. Really, a professional chaser for the Holyhead Harpies being a butterfingers was quite possibly the least believable lie any person could have told her. Hermione knew a wolf in sheep's clothing when she saw one.

“I really didn’t mean to get it all over your sweater.” 

This Hermione believed. Ginny wouldn’t have tried to ruin anything of hers, even if it could be cleaned through magic when muggle means failed. But what was Ginny up to? Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend suspiciously before assuring her once again that it was alright and picking up her glass to take a drink. Somebody had refilled her glass, and while Hermione couldn’t be sure she figured it might’ve been Fred when she caught the corners of his lips quirk upwards as she drank. Something in the exchange seemed to free both of them, and the rest of dinner passed with little issue. Fred seemed right again, no longer holding his cutlery in a death grip nor actively avoiding her gaze. Hermione felt the shift in herself too. Something had eased between them after she’d returned to the table, and while her cheeks still felt hot and her anxiety still bubbled slightly under the surface it was easier to continue on with the gathering. The tension remained, of course. Though he had no problem looking her way and being caught, when they did catch each other’s eye across the table they found themselves looking away almost immediately like it was taboo to remain in the other’s gaze for too long. 

After plates were empty and had begun lazily drifting into the kitchen on their own to be washed, Ginny offered to get the pudding so Molly could continue her conversation with Andromeda. George was glad that his mum hadn’t noticed that her least helpful daughter (impressive considering Ginny would also be her _most_ helpful daughter) had offered to do something that she could’ve avoided. It was only when a great _CRASH!_ sounded from around the corner did Molly realize she’d fallen into a trap. Ginny emerged, covered in splattered chocolate custard and whipped cream up to her shins looking almost too sheepish, Hermione thought. And then, the kicker: 

“Send someone ‘round to the shops, it’s not quite seven they’ll still be open,” Ginny suggested.

“Hermione, dear, I’m sorry to ask again–” Hermione was on her feet before her surrogate mother could finish the thought.

“Of course. Back in a jiff.” She set her napkin neatly on the table and pushed her chair in before starting towards the coat rack and the door. Before Hermione could even put one arm into her coat, another voice rang clearly out over the din from the rest of the table.

“Fred, why don’t you go with her.”

“Granger can handle herself.” Hermione shoved her other arm into the jacket, the sleeve of her sweater bunching up uncomfortably halfway down as she strained her ears to listen. 

“It’s pitch black out there already, you’ll go with her.” 

“Really, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Hermione angrily straightened her collar. He was right, of course, but there was no need to be so dismissive.

“Frederick Gideon Weasley–”

“Fine! Yes, I’m going!” And then another body joined her by the coats, stuffed his feet into his boots, and grabbed his jacket off the hook before passing her by. “Let’s go.” Fred disappeared out the door. She could hear Molly laying into Ginny for ruining the desert in the other room.

Hermione followed after him, somewhat dumbfounded at the lack of acknowledgment when she thought the evening had turned itself around. Sure, she still had no desire to put herself out there and have a candid chat with the man about what had almost happened at his ball, but not being in total silence would be preferable to chasing after a man who was 6’3” and all leg. 

“Hey!” She huffed, chasing after his shadowed figure as he headed into the field of long grass. “ _Hey!_ ”

“Keep up, ickle Granger! Don’t want the beasties to get you.” With a _pop!_ Fred apparated five hundred feet further into the field. _Not fair!_ Hermione wanted to yell and drag him back to the start as they were clearly running some sort of race and Fred was cheating. 

“ _Fred!_ ” Hermione whined, lungs burning as she tried to run through the tangles of alexanders and cow parsley. “Fred, please wait!” she cried, but Fred only apparated further and further from her. She’d had enough after she mistook a dark spot in the ground for a patch of dirt and twisted her ankle when she’d stepped into the hole. 

_Pop!_

Hermione appeared in front of her bridge, arms crossed tightly over her chest and hair growing with her frustration. Curls had come free from her carefully braided sections and in the moonlight, these tendrils lit up like a halo. Fred emerged from the long grass and stopped a dragons length away. 

“How does it feel?” he asked incredulously.

“How does _what_ feel?”

“Chasing after someone?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How does it feel chasing after someone who’s running away from you?”

 _Oh._ Hermione felt her arms drop to her sides. It wasn’t fun, she had to admit, but running after someone in a field who is using apparition as a means of escape is hardly comparable to how she’d fled at his ball. She’d run outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes into Diagon Alley, come face to face with a hoard of reporters who had come back around to try to catch any drunk stragglers heading home, and immediately apparated to the yard in front of the Burrow. Her picture had been in the paper the next morning, her face terrified and shocked, under the headline of _Golden Girl’s Great Getaway!_ The article featured many other notable members of wizarding society in arguably worse states, but none were featured as she had been. At no point after she’d escaped from his arms had she seen him follow after her. 

“I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well.” Fred shifted on the balls of his feet before putting on the jacket he was still holding and starting towards her. If he was upset that she ran, then surely that meant ... Briefly, Hermione thought he might embrace her and try to kiss her again in the heat of the moment but he kept on past her. “I’m cold.”

Hermione walked five paces behind Fred for the remainder of their trip into town. _With all of the back and forth, he could perhaps be playing with me_ , she thought, _another prank_. There was a small bakery that stayed open later than most stores in the area on Sundays. The owner always claimed it was because poor souls often didn’t realize they needed a bit of a treat until it was too late to go out and get one. Hermione rather liked the owner, a squat little man with a handlebar mustache, namely for his kindness but also for the wall of cookbooks he had decorated behind the counter with. When they arrived at the shop, it was quarter til seven and the little man was still puttering about inside. 

“Dunno what Mum wants. Maybe a cake? Easy to transport.”

“Alright.” Hermione stepped up into the shop. “Mr. Robinson! Good evening, I apologize for popping in so late.”

“Hermione, dear! Nonsense. Pleasure as always to see your dear face. In need of a bit of a pick-me-up?”

“Not for me personally tonight. My …” Hermione found herself at a momentary loss of how to describe her presence at the Burrow. She’d come down to the bakery just enough to have struck up somewhat of a working relationship with Mr. Robinson but not enough to explain that she was a war orphan in a war muggles had never heard of and was simply staying at her best friend turned ex-boyfriend’s parent’s house, because she was scared of being alone. “My sister-in-law dropped the chocolate custard her mother made for family dinner. You remember the Weasleys, up past the bridge?” 

“Yes, yes. You’re staying with them, they’ve lived there for ages, Arthur fancies himself a cranberry scone man.”

“Right. Well, anyway. My sister-in-law dropped the pud and we’ve been sent for a replacement.” Hermione gestured to Fred who was standing just outside the door, drawing arcs in the dirt across the flagstones with his toe. “You don’t happen to have any cakes left, do you?”

“'Course I do. Nothin’ but the best for you and that family. Go on, invite your fella inside while I fetch it from the back.”

Hermione didn’t dwell on the fact that he’d referred to Fred as her “fella” at all. Instead, she popped her head out the door and insisted he come in because he looked ridiculous standing out there and the shopkeep wanted to meet him. Fred huffed but acquiesced to her request. 

“Here we are,” Mr. Robinson announced as he emerged from the back with a very large cake box in hand, “One chocolate sponge with raspberry jam for the lady. Took the liberty of suggestin’ this one as you said your mother-in-law made chocolate custard.”

“Mother-in-law?” Fred looked to Hermione quizzically.

“Sounds lovely, Mr. Robinson. How much do I owe you?” She dug into the pockets of her coat for her wallet. 

“Twenty quid, even, please.” He smiled. “Now you must be a Weasley with those freckles and red hair. Not to mention you’re with this one and I know she’s been stayin’ up at that house.” Mr. Robinson was quite a personable man but he just didn’t know when to stop, Hermione thought.

“Oh, Mr. Robinson I–”

“Hermione dear, be quiet and fish out my payment. I'm trying to ask your nice young man some questions. ”

“Yes, sir.” Hermione said, digging back in her wallet for her muggle money while trying to keep her wizarding coins from falling out. Her face burned. A quick glance sideways at Fred explained that he was amused rather than confused at what the shopkeep was insinuating, yet Hermione still found herself hoping Fred understood she hadn’t planned this. She worried that he might think she was playing a joke on him. A cruel joke.

“Look Mr…?”

“Allen, just call me Allen.”

“Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Fred and I’m not sure what my _darling_ Hermione has told you but I assure you that she’s in good hands with me.”

“Aha!” Hermione pulled one ten pound and one twenty pound bill from her wallet, figuring that Mr. Robinson was probably shorting himself because he couldn’t possibly be selling a cake that big for so little. “Here you are,” she said, handing him the thirty quid.

“You’ve learned your math wrong. You’ve given me ten extra.”

“No, no, you keep it, sir. Thank you very much for the cake.”

“Kind of you, dear. Now, why didn’t you kids come to me for your wedding cake, hm? All these years you’ve come by and not a word of serving you and your handsome man on your special day. In fact, I thought you were about to ask last year, and then poof! Nothing.”

Fred choked a little on his own tongue. 

“Oh,” Hermione giggled nervously, “I mean, it was a family affair. His mother really is the most wonderful cook, and his sister didn’t drop the cake!” She hauled the chocolate monstrosity off the counter where Mr. Robinson had left it and deposited it in Fred’s unexpecting arms. “Thank you again, I promise we’ll come to you for the next one in the family.” Hermione tried to push Fred towards the door, but he seemed to have other plans. 

“We’ll come to you for the christening,” Fred grinned, recovering quickly and balancing the cake on one arm as he wrapped his free arm tightly around Hermione’s waist. “We wouldn’t want it any other way, Allen. Have a good night!” 

It was only when they were back in the woods, surely out of sight of the bakery that Hermione pried herself out of Fred’s grasp and _thwap_! hit him on the arm with the only weapon in her arsenal that wouldn’t cause another pudding disaster: her wallet. 

“ _For the christening_ ? Honestly! He’s going to be so upset with me next time I come by and there’s–” _thwap!_ “no–” _thwap!_ “baby–” _thwap!_

“Right, like pretending we’re married was any better.”

“I couldn’t think of an easy way to explain that I live at someone else’s parents house because I just fought in a war and my own parents have no clue who I am and, oh right of course, why would I want to spend my life living in a horrible little apartment _alone_?” Hermione let off a little scream of frustration that echoed through the trees and displaced several dozen bats.

“First of all, if you needed a fake-husband that badly you could’ve warned a guy, and second nobody is judging you for not wanting to live alone right now.”

“That’s not–”

“–I know it’s not what it’s about but I’m sure you need to hear it. You think I wanted to live with Ronnikins? The kid’s a pig.”

This got a strained laugh out of Hermione. “Fair.” It hadn’t been much fine keeping after Ron while they had been on the run together, nor had she gone more than one day without finding some of his belongings strewn across the Gryffindor common room back in their school days. She knew that he still invited his mum over to the flat on occasion simply because she would clean his room unprompted if it had gotten bad enough.

“Look,” Fred started as they crossed back over the bridge. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out the other night. You know we were drunk, and–”

“Oh. Oh, yeah no problem.”

“I mean it was clearly a–”

“No, it’s all fine. We were drunk.”

They continued in uncomfortable silence for some time, getting calf-deep in the long grass before it was Hermione’s turn.

“I mean, were you going to–”

"Oh, no not–”

“No?”

“I mean. Only if you wanted to.”

“Right.”

“I mean can you imagine what a disaster that would be?” Fred started laughing. It was high pitched and unfamiliar, and it brought about another round of uncomfortable silence. Only when they had broken through the grass and found themselves back in the Burrow’s yard did Fred strike up the courage once more.

“It’s not a big deal, Granger.”

“Not a…?”

“Just a bit of fun.”

“A bit of fun?”

“We were drunk, it was Halloween–”

“–A love song was playing–”

“–A love song was playing.”

“Fun,” Hermione repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, I mean can you imagine? It wouldn’t work. You and I? Good one.” The words left his mouth before he could swallow them back down. “I–It’d be…” the thought vanished.

“It’d be unbelievable?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“Good to know.” Hermione plucked the box from his arms and marched inside, curls wild and free behind her. Fred hadn’t even noticed that she’d taken down her hair until Hermione opened the house’s front door and the golden light caught in her bushy tendrils, surrounding her like a halo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I particularly enjoyed writing this chapter. I’ve been struggling with some personal stuff the past month which stunted my authorial voice I think. I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed working on it. Leave me a comment and let me know!


	11. That snake bit me on purpose!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione grapples with what to do about her feelings for Fred after an awkward encounter, and feels challenged by a newcomer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit short today! I hope you enjoy! Remember to leave a comment and tell me what you thought!

Hermione passed most of her days between the first November family dinner and the first December family dinner in her room, or in her makeshift study/potions lab. She’d been neglecting her study of cursed blades, and subsequently cursed injuries, as of late. Regardless of her personal connections to the studies, Hermione figured it was time to buckle down and face the fact of the matter: this was her next hurdle, this was her next job, this was her next breakthrough. It would also possibly be her next break _down_. 

Every day that she spent experimenting with new spells, salves, and potions seemed to rub not only her _mudblood_ scar more and more raw, but treated her heart the same. Hermione had been informed that her parents’ recovery was hastening every day, and that she would soon be allowed regular visitation hours with them as their memories of her had begun to resurface healthily. That owl had come and gone without a reply, and on the woman’s desk laid a piece of parchment bearing the words _Dear Healer Matthias,_ and nothing else. It still laid there. 

It was nearing dusk when a fist rapped on Hermione’s study door. She huffed and leaned back from the potion she was working over, blowing a stray piece of frizzy hair from her face. Hermione flipped her hand in the general direction of the door and it blew open gently, revealing one Harry James Potter. 

“Hi Harry,” Hermione said without glancing behind her. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I don’t know many other people who can get up those stairs without a single squeak.” She smiled and charmed her glass stirring rod to churn counterclockwise on its own. Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to greet her best friend, looping an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a hug.

“Maybe you just didn’t hear me over all that _hair_!” Harry pulled himself back and gave her frizzy tresses a fluff. “Honestly, how long has it been since you’ve a haircut?”

“You know there was a time in your life when I would’ve been the one asking you that.”

“Fourth year was dark,” Harry intoned dryly, a smile threatening to break across his face. “You promised never to speak of it again.”

“I apologize I forgot.” Hermione grinned, reaching up to ruffle up his hair even more than it sat naturally. Ironically, for all her efforts it actually looked more contained.

“Right, well, I’ve come to find out where you’ve been.” 

“Where I’ve been?”

“Despite living in her house, Molly has noticed a distinct lack of you over the past two weeks.”

“Oh come off it, she sees me all the time.” Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed up her sleeves. Behind her, the potion she was brewing had started to steam and fizz and was casting a hot, red glow throughout the room. “I’m… I think I’m close to a breakthrough, Harry.” 

In the crimson light, Harry’s green eyes seemed to sparkle with compassion. He knew, the whole _family_ knew, that Hermione was working towards something great once again. The first time, when she and Professor Flitwick had set themselves to decoding the reversal of _Obliviate_ so that they could offer more human antidotes to the Forgetfulness spell, Hermione had retreated into herself for nearly five months. She had buried herself in her research, and while Harry had an immense respect for her work ethic and the level of healing her studies seemed to bring her, he had always worried that she wasn’t taking proper care of herself. Now, she was falling prone to her own diligence again, and he didn’t want to see his friend fall back into that place. She had rarely spoken about the ordeal with Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor, only speaking publicly on the matter in the wake of the war to testify on behalf of Draco Malfoy. Harry was unsure of what such a rigorous study, of what he could only imagine to be one of her most traumatic moments, would unearth.

“How close?”

“Two weeks, tops.”

“Right, then you certainly have enough time to come out with me and Gin tonight.” Hermione immediately began to protest but Harry put a hand up in front of her. “No arguments, ‘Mione. Come out with us. Neville and Luna are coming, too, I know you haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Ron and Maisy?”

“Them too,”

“And…?”

“‘Spose the twins will make an appearance, they usually do.” Harry shrugged, oblivious to the wheels that had begun to turn in Hermione’s mind.

“Well, I can’t stay long.” She wiped her brow of sweat again and flicked her wand, her hair plaiting itself neatly down her back. “And I’ll probably be late, I have a fair few more steps before I can let this simmer for the night.”

“But you’ll be there?”

“ _Yes_ , Harry, I’ll be there.”

“Great!” He perked up, “the Leaky, at eight.” 

And with that, Harry Potter was gone and Hermione had much to consider. If she went out tonight, she would have to face Fred again. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as they were for all intents and purposes _friends_ , but with things to tense between them and then a whole month without speaking under her belt Hermione wasn’t sure what to expect. It wasn’t necessarily new, the animosity between them. In school she had come down on them hard when they had been distributing prototypes of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products and her relationship with the twins had cracked some. It had taken a while for them to trust her enough to include her in new product announcements and general tom-foolery. The nonsense with Fred’s showing up at her bridge was the closest they had ever been. So really, this wouldn’t be any different than before. But with… unresolved tension.

And who was Fred, really, to say that they would be an utter _disaster_ if they were to kiss… or date? Who was he to say that it was _unbelievable_ ? That the idea of Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley dating was so ludicrous that it wouldn’t be taken seriously at all? _That_ thought was ridiculous.

Prankster and Perfect Prefect. Golden Girl and the Hogwarts Give-Up. The Blameworthy and the Bibliophile. Together they were something about that sounded surprisingly like a fairytale, like Beauty and the Beast. Whoever said that “opposites attract” had clearly never passed the message on to Fred. 

Frankly, Hermione was offended.

* * *

“ _HERMIONE!”_ Ron roared as she made her way into the Leaky Cauldron. In a flash he was on his feet and across the room, engulfing her in his arms. Hermione laughed and hugged him tightly. “We haven’t seen you in _ages!_ I was starting to think Mum’d replaced the ghoul in the attic with you and locked you in!” Ron slung an arm over her shoulders and led her through the throng of bar goers to the round table in the back corner that housed the cast of characters they called their friends.

“It’s so good to see you!” Maisy exclaimed, getting up so Hermione could scoot in between her and Ginny.

“We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” said George who was sitting directly across from her now.

“Harry cornered me while I was working, and who am I to disobey the _Boy Who Lived_.”

A joking _aaay!_ went around the group as Ginny jostled her fiancé. Hermione checked her watch. She was only forty-five minutes late and the crew was well on their way through a bottle of Ogden’s finest that sat in the center of the table. Neville reached forward and poured a healthy glass for Hermione, who gratefully took a sip as soon as her hands found the glass. As the amber liquid burned down her throat, Hermione found the strength to look around the group and evaluate who had arrived.

To her left was Ron and then Maisy next to her, and on her right was Ginny and Harry, then Neville and Luna, and finally George and Angelina as the table curved. There was someone missing.

“Fred’s M.I.A.” George spoke, seemingly reading her mind. 

“I wasn’t–”

“You know," interrupted Luna, "I think I saw him at that new tea shop in Hogsmeade as we were leaving, what is it called Neville?” 

“Oh, you mean Fizzlesticks?” Neville furrowed his brow at his girlriend and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

“Yes, exactly.” 

“I’ve heard they get rather experimental in the evenings. Some sort of tea and bar combination? Surprised they opened it up by the castle and not down in the city.” Maisy laughed. “One of my girlfriends said her boyfriend surprised her and took her for her anniversary. Romantic, she said.”

Somewhere inside Hermione, something panged. 

“Sounds lovely,” Luna gushed.

“Is Fred seeing somebody new?” 

“No, I’m sure he’s not.” George exclaimed. “He’s been… caught up in something recently, I think.” His eyes skated past Hermione, catching for but a moment.

“Caught up in something?” 

“None of _your_ business of course, ickle sister.”

“Are my ears burning?” Hermione whipped her head around, and was greeted with an eyeful of Weasley. Fred was standing a few feet away, hands on his hips and smiling like a cat who got the cream. Somewhere even deeper inside Hermione, something _snapped_ . Hand resting delicately in the crook of Fred’s arm was a girl with pin-straight blonde hair, wearing a baby blue cardigan over a white lace camisole, and a matching blue knee-length skirt that was embroidered with tiny sparkling beads, and a huge silver charm bracelet that tinkled gently every time she moved. “Thought we’d come fashionably late to the party. Shove up.” Suddenly chairs were parting and Hermione was scooting further towards Ginny so that _two_ new chairs could sit at the table.

“This,” Fred continued, “is the lovely Natalia.”

“Natalia Brown, pleasure to meet all over you!” Natalia waved shyly, charms jingling, her high voice carrying easily across the din of the bar.

“Hi Natalia,” the table chorused as Hermione found herself frozen, eyes locked onto Fred’s ear as he grinned towards his date. His _date_ . His non-preposterous date. She saw his jaw moving, saw his head thrown back as he laughed, saw his adam's apple bob as he took a swig of firewhiskey, and understood that the conversation was continuing without her. She was staring, and he still hadn’t glanced in her direction. _Nevermind_ , Hermione thought, _no problem that I’m invisible. We weren’t friends, we weren’t dating. He’s just my best friend’s brother, nothing more. How_ silly _of me to think–_ She shook herself from her thought and took another drink. Natalia’s laughter glittered across the table.

“Any relationship to Lavender Brown, Natalia?” Hermione heard herself asking, interrupting whatever joke had been made.

Fred’s eyes snapped to hers, and she was surprised to find that she was still looking at him. Ginny’s hand found Hermione’s until the table and squeezed. Natalia turned to take her in.

“Yes! She was my cousin, actually.”

“Brilliant,” she muttered before straightening and fixing a kinder smile onto her face. “I can see the family resemblance!” It wasn’t that Hermione had any ill-feelings left towards Lavender, may God rest her soul, but the fallen woman had certainly caused her a fair share of heartache when they had been in school together and she was still somewhat sore over it. She wasn’t sore because of her feelings towards Ron – no, those were long gone –but rather for her pride. It didn’t do Hermione well to dwell on the feelings of inadequacy that Lavender had always inspired in her. It wouldn’t do well for her to dwell on the jealousy that Natalia likewise inspired either.

“That’s so kind of you, Hermione, she was very much like a sister to me. We were pen-pals in school, you see I went to Beauxbatons.”

“I’m sure you miss her dearly,” Ginny jumped in before Hermione could open her mouth again. With a start Hermione realized she was crushing her friend’s hand.

“Thank you, I do.” The table quieted for a moment in remembrance, and then Fred stood and asked Natalia if she wanted something else to drink. She asked for something fruity that Hermione liked to order when she went out with Ginny and needed to be more sober than drunk. As Hermione watched Fred walk away she realized the difference between herself and Natalia. They wouldn’t be a disaster. _They_ wouldn’t be unbelievable. She was exactly what everybody expected of Fred: a beautiful fool.


	12. Lie, to me, again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from a month of tension, Hermione recalls what happened Christmas Day as she gets ready for Harry and Ginny's New Year's Eve engagement party.

Hermione stared ruefully at the dress that glittered across her bed. Ginny had left it sprawled out like it was and Hermione felt it mocked her. A gauzy, champagne gold a-line gown with a built-in cape that was translucent and inlaid with thousands of dainty roses made of tiny beads that glinted in the light couldn’t ever convince her to go,  _ no way _ . It was just Hermione’s luck that the soon-to-be Potters had insisted on their engagement party being on New Year’s Eve. She would actually be going, of course, Hermione would never miss her closest friend and honorary brother’s engagement party, but that didn’t mean she would be happy about it.

Harry and Ginny had picked New Year’s Eve for the rejuvenating nature of the holiday, and Ginny had decided they would be going all out on glitz and glamour seeing as their wedding would be a solely family affair and, as such, would be much more casual than expected. She’d wanted the party, she’d wanted to ball gowns, she’d wanted a “starry night” theme after seeing one too many American muggle movies where teenagers went to something called “prom”. And as Hermione was in the wedding party, Ginny had seen fit to pick out her dress in the wedding colors. (“ _ Gold _ , Hermione. White gold! Not garish yellow gold, that doesn’t go with my hair. Gold for a golden new age!” “Gold for the Golden Boy?” “Exactly!”)

_ It really is lovely _ , Hermione thought.  _ Lovely, and breathtaking, and over the top. _

Engagement party meant  _ family, _ though, and family meant  _ Fred _ . And Fred meant Natalia. And Hermione had no desire to see Natalia after what had transpired at Christmas. 

Christmas  _ hadn’t _ been awful. Hermione had gathered with the family as tradition mandated for presents in the morning and Christmas dinner in the evening and the whole affair had been Natalia-free until it was almost time for the clock to strike Boxing Day when a  _ whoosh!  _ came from the floo in the other room. 

“Who’s that?” She had asked innocently, slightly boozed up and nibbling on the corner of a tree shaped sugar cookie. Fred, two Weasleys to her left, dragged himself into a standing position and bounded around the corner. Hermione should have known the answer to her own question just then, but she was still surprised when the pair came around the corner, giggling.

“Hello!” Natalia greeted the group. Across the floor of the Burrow’s living room the drunken “children” of the family sprawled far and wide. Bill, Fleur, and little Victoire had long since returned home (as had Percy and Audrey), but the room was full of ginger nonetheless. Charlie lay with his legs up the back of his father’s armchair, head dangling off the cushion. George and Angie were cuddled up on one side of the couch, Ron and Maisy on the other. Harry and Ginny were tangled in eachother to the left of Hermione, leaning against the sofa, and Hermione was laying on her stomach halfway under the coffee table.

“And who is this, little Frederick?” Charlie drawled from his topsy turvy perch.

“This is  _ Nat-a-lia _ .” Fred sang her name like it was gospel and Hermione had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes. 

“His girlfriend!” Natalia’s gaudy charm bracelet clanged loudly as she wrapped her arms around Fred’s side like a giant squid. She gazed up at him like he was the moon and she was the tide. Fred smiled sweetly down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Hermione, too far gone to reign in any drunken outburst, felt bile rising in her throat. 

“Traitor.” 

“Sorry, what was that, ‘Mione?” Natalia cocked her head like an inquisitive puppy. Nobody had given her permission to use that nickname.

“I said your  _ boyfriend _ is a traitor.” Hermione rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Traitor.” A nervous laugh bubbled up from somebody on the couch. It was too high for most people to guess him, but if she was asked Hermione would’ve bet it was George. Her head swam.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” She grumbled. “Just didn’t know Fred had finally retired his eligible bachelor crown. Congrats Charlie.”

“Thank you?”

“Most eligible Weasley bachelor everyone, Charlie Weasley!” She flung her arms into the air haphazardly, throwing up imaginary confetti. If she had been looking, Hermione would have noticed the horrified looks that were growing on Harry and Ron’s faces. Ginny and George certainly knew about whatever had been going on between Fred and herself, but Hermione wasn’t sure who else knew. She hadn’t explicitly told anybody about the feelings she had developed for Fred, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny had told Harry or George had told Angelina. Maybe even Ron knew, by now. But she couldn’t see their faces, she could only see the beams crisscrossing the ceiling and was blissfully aware that Harry seemed to think she was having a nervous breakdown because of her work. Blissfully aware that her best friends were suddenly feeling guilty for not working harder to drag her away from her obsessive breakthrough that hadn’t in fact come about in two weeks or less. 

“Right, well, I’m sorry to crash! Fred invited me over but I didn’t want any fuss over dinner so I thought I’d come to the afterparty.” Fred and Natalia settled down on the floor. She had a new charm, by the sound of it. Hermione wasn’t sure when she’d gotten it but Natalia had definitely added a sleigh bell charm.  _ Perhaps it’s a Christmas present from Fred _ . “I made a pie!” Natalia pulled a pie from her bag; the bag had been spatially altered. 

That was the thing about Natalia Brown. She was unfathomably  _ nice _ . In the handful of times Hermione had had the misfortune of running into the new couple since their introduction she had been horrified to discover that the beautiful fool was in fact very kind, and very clever. Natalia was more like Lavender than she’d thought. They were both beautiful and bubbly, but witty and cunning as well. Natalia was surprisingly easy to get along with considering Hermione’s relationship with her cousin, and this made Hermione even angrier. She couldn’t be angry at Natalia, of course, it wasn’t the girl’s fault. It would never be the girl’s fault that Hermione and Fred had been on the verse of a personal breakthrough and then … nothing. And then …  _ boom _ ! An explosion of the destructive sort had lit them up.

Hermione couldn’t fault Natalia at all and somehow it made her all the more bitter. Fred had simply picked a better version of her, and that stung. He had said that she was “ _ allowed to do things differently than any of them expected _ ”, he had said that Hermione was allowed to be swotty and introverted, but she could be wild and free wheeling if she wanted and shouldn’t have to first think about how people viewed her. Well, Fred had gone and wrecked that by bringing Natalia into the picture. Hermione felt it was a personal offense that he had gone out and met the perfect witch, because Natalia really was great. Natalia was intelligent and kind, freewheeling and still grounded. Natalia was everything Hermione thought she would be, thought she  _ should _ be. She was even an avid reader! The fact that Fred had picked a new and improved bookworm wounded Hermione to the core. When it came down to it, Natalia was the remarkable one, not her.

Not that she had even been an option to be picked, apparently.

Hermione got up from the floor, set her half-eaten cookie directly on the coffee table and walked out of the front door without a word. She was barefoot and wore only her hand knitted periwinkle jumper (emblazoned with a silver H) over her silver Christmas dress, and though the bitter cold bit hungrily at her toes she kept walking. She made it to the edge of the clearing surrounding the Burrow, the edge of the long grass that lead to her bridge, before she turned back to look at the house. Standing silhouetted by the lamplight streaming through the ground floor’s windows Hermione saw a figure. Hermione could guess who it was by the way the golden light that surrounded his head in a halo and lit the contours of his face from the side. 

_ It suits him, this light _ , Hermione thought _. Like a renaissance painting. _

Every time she looked at him, she still felt like he was a door with her name on it. Fred was this great mystery shrouded in humor and hijinks that Hermione had only just started to crack and yet he felt like her destiny, as corny as that was. There was just something about Fred Weasley that felt familiar to her, beside the obvious that they had known each other for ten years. There wasn’t even a romantic relationship to warrant such dramatics as how he made her feel. Nothing particularly special had even happened between them yet, and still he was standing in the cold and chasing after her  _ again _ . 

“Fred?” She called, turning to face him straight on.

“It’s cold, Granger.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” There was grass between her toes. Distantly Hermione remembered that her wand was holding up her hair in a bun and she could easily cast a warming charm if she wanted to. She didn’t want to.

“You’ll get sick, Hermione.” Fred stepped forward, out of the golden light the Burrow provided and into the blue light of the moon. “Come back in, please.”

“I’m drunk.” 

“I can see that. Me too.”

“That’s why I said those things.”

“I don’t blame you. I am a traitor.”

“No you’re not, Fred.” This time it was Hermione who took a step forward.

“And why is that?” He took another step.

“Because she’s not… You’re…” At a loss for words Hermione shrugged. How would she kindly tell their acquaintance, friend, almost-love, that she doesn’t believe it’s real? That she hopes it’s not real because if it is that means he was lying when he’d said she was special, remarkable, capable of so much more? “You’re not a traitor just because you’ve left the kids table.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up about her, about Natalia before we came to drinks.” Hermione started to dismiss his apology. “No, stop that. I didn’t think you’d be there and, that’s really not an excuse but… I didn’t think it would become a  _ thing. _ ”

“A thing?”

“That you’d avoid me, I mean.” A step forward.

“I’m not avoiding you.” A step back. 

“Fine,  _ researching _ then.” Fred had his hands outstretched as if he was convincing a wounded animal to trust him. “I was worried sick, honestly. You weren’t showing up at your bridge on Mondays.”

“You were looking for me?”

“I wanted to apologize.” He wrung his hands. “I think you misunderstood me the last time we spoke. I only meant–”

“You only meant we’d be a funny joke. I understand.” Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling the wet ground squelch beneath her frozen feet. Her fingertips and nose felt numb. “Natalia’s really nice,” she finished lamely.

“She is.” Fred’s eyes raked up and down Hermione’s small frame. “You must be freezing, Granger. Come on, have my coat.” He started towards her and she wanted to bolt again, but let him shrug his coat off and wrap it around her shoulders. Fred stood close enough that the steam from Hermione’s breath split around his chest as she exhaled. 

The wind kicked up suddenly and a tendril of hair was freed from behind Hermione’s ears. Shivering, she clutched Fred’s jacket tighter across her body. From Fred’s perspective Hermione was bathed in the silvery blue light of the moon and looked impossibly ethereal as her hair blew in the wind. The curl caught on her chapped lips and, reflexively, he reached up and brushed it away. His thumb barely skated over the corner of Hermione’s mouth. His fingertips grazed the line of her jaw. His hand hovered there, barely touching her, longer than should’ve been proper. 

His brown eyes found hers in the dark, and for a moment her breath stopped. The handle of the door labelled  _ Hermione Granger _ seemed to turn. Hermione blinked and all of a sudden Fred was holding her and his thumb was caressing her cheek. The handle turned properly. Fred leant forward and rested his forehead to hers. 

“Tell me you won’t run away.”

Hermione breathed deeply and shut her eyes. His face slid closer to hers, noses pressed together. A sliver of glittering, golden light shone through a crack in the door.

“I’m not running away–” She felt Fred’s lips graze hers and she stilled, eyes closed. “–but you should. Go back to her, Fred. She’s waiting for you.”

As if her words were an incantation, Fred snapped to attention and pulled himself from her. Hermione reeled at the cold that immediately stung where his hand had warmed her cheek. He ran a hand through his hair, stumbling back from her before glancing over his shoulder and back to her. Something shone in her eyes that Hermione couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the cold light of the moon playing a trick on her, but she thought she’d seen regret. Fred nodded and the shine disappeared as he marched back to the house. 

Hermione shivered under his coat and turned on her heel;  _ pop! _

And she hadn’t seen either of them since, which she supposed was a good sign. Neither Ginny nor Harry nor Ron had been able to give her any information regarding whether or not Fred and Natalia were still together. Hermione couldn’t fathom that they had broken up after that. If she had been drunk, and Fred had been drunk, there was quite the chance it had all been a fluke. Even if it wasn’t, Hermione had been the bigger person and Fred hadn’t actually cheated on his lovely, kind, beautiful girlfriend. There couldn’t have been a breakup because Fred was interested in Natalia and  _ not _ in Hermione and it had all been a Christmas mistake. 

And still, reeling over feelings for an unavailable man, Hermione didn’t want to wear that bloody gorgeous dress Ginny had picked out. She huffed and waved her wand, switching the clothes on her body with the gown on her bed. 

“This was a mistake,” Hermione said to the empty room as she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror. 

It wasn’t a mistake. Hermione stood as regal as the celestial bodies above. She could now see that the beaded rosettes glittered in a blush pink, and that the cape dipped low between her shoulder blades to compliment the low back of the gown itself.  _ For fun _ , Hermione told herself, she waved her wand and her hair fixed itself into a messy low bun, curly tendrils escaping to frame her face. Ginny had truly outdone herself. Sighing in a show of faux contempt, she stuck her wand through the bun and picked up the front of her dress. 

Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself for the evening ahead. She would celebrate Harry and Ginny’s upcoming nuptials and she would be happy about being around so many friends and surrogate family members. She would converse happily with the members of the press who had inevitably been invited as part of the Potter’s plans to keep their actual day relatively stress free. She would dance with Harry and Ron for old times sake, and be merry. And when the clock struck midnight, she wouldn’t look to see if Fred was kissing somebody else.

So, much like the early minutes of Boxing Day, Hermione turned on her heel;  _ pop! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to include the party in this chapter but I didn't want this to be double the length of my average chapter. Still, I hope you enjoyed this one! Leave a comment if you'd like! I love hearing from you!


	13. One single thread of gold tied me to you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Hermione go to the party. George and Ginny meddle for the better.
> 
> In which Hermione is pure gold and Fred is basking in her glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy/Merry Christmas Eve! I hope you enjoy the gift of Fremione haha.

The room looked up when she came in through the door, and Fred thought he might dissolve into a puddle just by the mere sight of her. She was more breathtaking, more magnificent than she had been at the Yule Ball, only just learning to come into her own. Standing at the top of the grand staircase, Hermione glittered like a firework falling back down to Earth. Gone was the timid, unsure girl in a periwinkle blue dress. She had been replaced by a goddess on earth, still unsure of herself Fred knew, but dripping in gold she appeared to all others self-confident and radiant in her position of power. Hermione was probably the most powerful witch in the room, he figured, not only in her skill and intellect but also in beauty and positioning. 

All around him whispers swirled. There were many more people here than he would’ve expected the couple invited, and a great number of these strangers seemed to be treating the party as if it were a VIP event they had snuck into. To be fair, they probably had, and it probably was. _Is that Hermione Granger?_ echoed through the room, _she looks incredible!_

Fred privately agreed. He knew that Ginny had picked her dress, she had picked his dress robes when he’d said he hadn’t anything to wear to a black-tie occasion. It seemed she had somewhat matched them up, the little sneak. His robes were a deep indigo, and across the cuffs and the hem of his cape were tiny champagne-gold starbursts. The matching bowtie was a cream jacquard pattern with golden thread that wove itself into a rose pattern. As Hermione descended the stairs to be greeted by the happy couple, Fred saw that her translucent cape glinted pink wherever there were beaded rosettes. He noticed that behind the decorated tulle her back was nearly entirely exposed. The muscles in her back seemed to dance as she laughed at something Harry had said, and she accepted a glass of champagne before moving deeper into the room and disappearing from Fred’s view. He took a sip of his own champagne and watched as Neville and Luna floated down the stairs, Neville in smart black dress robes and Luna in an effervescent daffodil yellow.

He’d come with Natalia, even after the mess he’d caused at Christmas. It hadn’t felt right of him to uninvite her to the party, not when he’d known she bought a dress and told her friends she wouldn’t be able to make it to their annual New Years traditions. But she was off, in her dress of plum dupioni silk that clashed horribly with his navy, conversing with Fleur and Bill who she got on rather remarkably with. Natalia was lovely, as women went, and Fred felt bad for how he had treated her. They’d met in the shop when she’d come in with her young nephew, and he had seen in her not only an escape but a familiar spirit. He’d asked her out on the spot, and it had been a relatively casual affair until he’d brought her to the Leaky Cauldron. Fred hadn’t wanted his mother to get the wrong idea if he asked to bring Natalia to Christmas dinner, and he personally maintained that it was the right choice to sneak her in instead. On boxing day, they’d woken up in bed together, Natalia in one of his old quidditch jerseys laying far from him on the opposite end of the bed. He’d brought her coffee and toast and candidly informed her that he still had feelings for somebody else. Natalia, the angel, had told him it was alright and that he shouldn’t worry about hurting her. Fred insisted he would still take her to the party, and she’d agreed, which is how he found himself standing alone by the open bar in some ballroom Harry and Ginny had rented for the night.

“Brother…”

“Sister…” He sighed and turned to the smaller Weasley who had somehow managed to sneak up on him.

“What do you think of your robes?” Ginny asked with a smile, sipping at her drink.

“Mine are rather dashing,” Fred gave a quick twirl letting her inspect him, “but I suspect you weren’t asking about mine.”

Ginny snorted, “your suspicions are correct. Is that why you’re moping over here? Can’t take a little meddling?”

“Au contraire. I’ve been waiting for everybody to stop looking this way so I can slip one of Georgie and I’s new love potions into the punch.”

“We’re not serving punch.”

“Ah, bugger. My master plan has been foiled.”

Ginny laughed and took Fred’s glass from him, setting it down on the bar alongside her own. “Come on, Forge. Dance with your ickle baby sister.” She took his hand and dragged him forward. The music had transitioned from ambient sound to dance-worthy and couples were slowly starting to take to the floor. Across the dancefloor, Fred could see that Harry was dancing with Hermione who positively glowed. Her head was thrown back in laughter as her best friend shuffled her around messily. He was still a rubbish dancer. Fred took Ginny's hands in his spun around with her as they had as children. She used to beg him and George to dance with her, back when her life’s dream was to become a ballerina, like a girl in a muggle book their dad had brought home one day. Ginny would stand on the twin's toes and shove them side to side like they were waltzing. 

“This is tender,” Fred remarked, trying to suppress a smile as Ginny’s ginger hair fanned out behind her after a particularly quick spin. She was wearing a formfitting gown in white, as appropriate, with pear and sequin embroidery that bloomed from the centre of her bust like an explosion. The thin spaghetti straps showed off the young woman’s toned arms from her sport, and let her many freckles stand on display. Something inside Fred tightened protectively at he danced with Ginny, realizing that she had grown up somewhere along the way during the mad dash of the war. The song began to fade.

“I heard you broke up with Natalia.” She whispered when the tempo slowed. “I know you brought her but I thought that maybe tonight could… help you. I know there’s something going on between you and–”

“May I cut in?” There was Harry, with impeccable timing as always. Fred had no desire to discuss his and Hermione’s non-relationship. 

“Of course, mate. She’s all yours.” He handed his sister off to her fiancé, sending with her a pointed look equating to something like _mention it again and you’re dead, kid._ Ginny rolled her eyes as Harry whisked her away, only stumbling over his own feet once. No sooner than the pair had left him alone on the dancefloor was he taken up by another partner, Angelina. 

“Wrong twin, Angie.” 

“Oh sod off you twat. I’m here to distract you for a moment.”

“What? Why?” Fred tried to look around the floor but Angelina quickly took the lead of their dance and turned his head back. 

“You real partner just ran off. _Again._ George’ll be but a tick.” 

There were more than just his siblings in the need-to-know, Fred realized. There was a plot afoot to set him up with Hermione tonight, and he wasn’t sure what to do with this information. When he’d told his twin that he and Natalia had broken up amicably it wasn’t news that had been meant to spread. Fred didn’t want Hermione to think that he’d ended his relationship because of her, though he _had_. He didn’t want to cause her any more trouble than he was worth, which he reckoned wasn’t enough for the Golden Girl to deserve dealing with.

“Dunno why you didn’t tell me about it, Freddie.”

“What is there to tell? It’s a story as old as time. Boy meets Girl, Girl gets bullied by Boy’s younger brother and then they somehow become friends. Girl and Boy’s younger brother and their famous friend save the world countless times. Girl grows up, sacrifices so much for Boy’s family, dates Boy’s brother, never looks twice at Boy.”

“She’s looked more than twice, Fred.”

“Really, if they made our lives into, I don’t know, a muggle film she’d end up with the big hero anyways. I would’ve been written out when it was convenient. The wall, back at Hogwarts!” Fred suddenly exclaimed like it was obvious. “ _That’s_ where I would’ve been written out. I would’ve been crushed by the wall and you and George’d end up naming a kid after me or something.” 

Angelina stared at him in shock, hints of pity lacing her features. He’d meant it to be funny. He’d meant it as a big joke that he was the expendable one, not Hermione. That she was too important and it wouldn’t be a big deal if nothing came out of their few weeks of flirtation. Angie’s eyes seemed to look into his soul. All of a sudden Fred realized they’d stopped dancing at some point and were standing still amidst the partygoers. 

“Are you alright? I know you had a rough time of it but… Fred, we thought you’d gotten past all that.”

“I have, trust me. It’s not a big deal.” He fiddled with his bowtie. “Look, point is, it was a pipedream loving Hermione Granger. But please, by all means, name a kid after me. Dying not necessary, I think Fred Weasley the Second has a _wonderful_ ring to it!” Fred reached out suddenly and twirled Angelina. 

“Excuse me, but I think I’ll be taking my girlfriend back. She’s already spent too long with the ugly twin. I don’t think she’ll be able to survive another minute.” George faked a frown and snatched Angie from the spin, hugging her close from behind. “I have a pretty decent replacement, though.” He waggled his eyebrows and pointed behind Fred. 

“Hi.”

Fred spun around.

* * *

_Bless Lily and James Potter for making sure nobody could take this money from Harry_ , was the first thought in Hermione’s mind when the world stopped twisting and she arrived at the party’s venue. If she hadn’t already spent a decade living in the Wizarding World, the opulence of the ballroom alone would have her convinced that magic was real. Of course Ginny had gone the extra mile in decorating for the New Years and the entire room shone like it was the interior chamber of a snitch. _Fitting_.

Staring out over the crowd, at the top of the stairs, Hermione was hit with a wave of nausea. Ginny had said fifty, maybe seventy-five people tops and she had been way off mark. She should have known, of course, as the Weasley clan alone made up nearly twenty people when you added the partners, spouses, and great-aunts into the mix. Hermione’s parents had always told her grand stories of how they’d met for the first time at one of the Students’ Balls during Austria’s winter ball season. Now she felt as if she were standing in the Vienna Musikverein, where the ceiling was three floors high and the walls were gilded and mirrored. With a deep breath, Hermione held herself tall as she descended the staircase into the party.

“ _Breathe_ , ‘Mione. You look like you were about to topple over the staircase!” Harry chuckled after she took his outstretched arm with a little too much weight. “Though I s’pose if Ginny had made me wear that cape I would’ve been flat on my face by now.”

Hermione laughed heartily, nerves getting the better of her and took a glass of champagne from Ginny gratefully. “Maybe later I’ll let you try it on and we’ll see if you do any better.” 

“Go on, ‘Mione, enjoy the party. You look bloody _gorgeous_ if I do say so myself.” Ginny grinned. “If I wasn’t getting hitched to this tosser I’d ask you out myself.”

“Alright, _rude_.” Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek as he rolled his eyes. “But yeah we’ve got host duty for a little while. Get some food before Ron swallows the table whole? Bring me back a crab puff?”

Hermione promised she’d return and slipped into the throng of attendees, occasionally getting stopped by an old classmate she barely recognized or a fellow veteran. They all wanted to ask her questions about her newest project, offer her their thanks for her work on the anti-obliviate potion, or worst of all tell her how beautiful she looked in her dress. She wasn’t very good at accepting compliments and Hermione found herself making haste to slip away from each new interaction until she reached the open buffet. It was a miracle she made it without anybody stepping on her cape (though Hermione had a suspicion it was charmed as so many dress robes were).

Ron was, indeed, standing close by Maisy at the buffet table. Where Hermione would have normally been by his side at these events admonishing him for eating the whole room of guests out of their dinner, Maisy was cheering him on as he added to the growing plate of shrimp shells on his plate. Hermione thought it was adorable that Maisy had matched her dress and his bowtie to the colour of his hair.

“What if I wanted some?!” Hermione asked, a joyful lilt making its way into her voice.

“It’s neverending! Like at Hogwarts! Been a while since anyone’s been so thoughtful as to provide a neverending buffet, ‘Mione.”

“You know it was neverending because Hogwarts has _house elves_ , right Ronald?” 

Ron paused his chewing, thinking his words over before he dared engage with Hermione on the topic of house-elf rights. He’d grown a lot since their school days, most notably learning to think before speaking to Hermione about anything that got her properly worked up. She was grateful, but as a result of his new filtering abilities wasn’t always sure whether he understood the general moral conundrums whenever they got into squabbles about the various magical creatures that she thought the Ministry disastrously overlooked.

“And I’m sure Harry and Ginny are paying handsomely for their help tonight, ‘Mione.” He gulped down his mouthful, satisfied with the idea that the venue was compensating their help properly. “If you find out they’re being mistreated I’ll personally wage another war with you. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Hermione grabbed a napkin and two crab puffs and hurried to make her way back through the crowd to Harry. She popped one of the puffs in her mouth and sighed as she savoured it. Hermione didn’t usually make a point of eating seafood, other than the occasional trip to the chippy with Ginny or the boys, and as such, it was always a fancy delight to indulge (even when slathered in malted vinegar). 

“You’re the best!” Harry nearly shouted as she handed him his crab puff. As she had, he stuffed it all in his mouth at once and grinned immediately. “Right, then, Ginny’s flounced off to find her brother and I think it’s well within my right to abandon this greeting nonsense, too. Care to dance?”

Hermione laughed, “I’d love to.” Forgoing wizarding custom they had both gotten used to after years of formal Ministry events, Harry grabbed her hand and dragged her to the centre of the floor. A few couples were swaying casually but with a wave of his hand the band struck up a much more lively pace and soon people were meandering forward to join the dance. 

“Gin really outdid herself with this thing.” Harry grinned at her, tugging her around in a circle. He certainly hadn’t gotten much better at dancing after the war, and Hermione was struck with the feeling that this is how their lives would’ve gone if disaster hadn’t befallen the Triwizard Tournament and the end of their fourth year at Hogwarts. She figured that reincarnating the Tournament and having it go _well_ would have lead to the tradition carrying on once more. If that had happened, they would’ve been treated to another event in their seventh year. Maybe Ron — or Neville — would’ve even been chosen as Hogwarts Champion. There would have been another Yule Ball. They would have danced under the charmed stars and only had fears about their impending NEWTS. 

Harry did a little shuffle with his feet that greatly resembled Buckbeak’s excited trotting whenever he saw a ferret causing Hermione to clutch her belly and laugh heartily. For all of her fears about coming to yet another public event, putting herself in society’s cruel and calculating eye, there were also great joys she found in nights like this. As the years passed it continued to be easier and easier to participate in these moments, especially when she was beside Harry or Ron. The world would never be how it was before Voldemort’s fateful return, but as she let Harry twirl her again and again, Hermione realized that things would be alright and as long as she had the little family she’d built for herself she could do _anything_. 

Fred had been right, Hermione thought. She had already done remarkable things. Not just becoming one of the most powerful muggle-born witches to ever live (not that Hermione would ever admit to that aloud), but she had done something remarkable in finding all of these people (mainly ginger) who loved her and forging her own spot in the world that had starkly refused to accept her.

Truly remarkable.

“Right, Harry, can’t go running off with Granger just yet. At least marry my sister before you begin your torrid affair.” George was behind them, hand outstretched to Hermione. Harry stopped dancing and flushed red. “Go on, steal her from my older, less handsome twin.”

Hermione tried to peek above the dancing heads to spy Fred. She hadn’t realized he was here yet, figuring he probably would’ve popped by to say hi if he’s seen her come in. She certainly hadn’t seen him come in. She _did_ see Natalia dancing with… Roger Davies. Of course. Before she could do much more visual exploration of the room, George had taken her arms and held them appropriately for the music playing, drawing her attention back to him. 

“High time you had a real dance partner. Potter’s useless.” George stepped in time with the music, guiding her steadily and easily. Ginny had revealed sometime last year that the Weasley children had all been subjected to dance classes by Aunt Muriel on a demand that they at least follow _some_ pureblood traditions. Dancing had been what Molly and Arthur agreed to (ancient, somewhat dark, blood magick education had been a hard no). For all his jokes and rule non-conforming George was quite a natural.

“So, Granger,” he began, and Hermione almost thought she saw him catch the eyes of someone behind her and wink. “Will _you_ tell me why you ran on that oh so fateful Hallow’s Eve? I’ve already heard one side. I’d like to know if he’s off his rocker about it all.”

Hermione didn’t need to ask who George was talking about. Of _course_ , Fred had told his twin about it all. “I– I wasn’t feeling well. Figured it was better to turn in early. Gigglewater, and all.” She coughed awkwardly. George twirled her and she caught a glimpse of Angelina taking Fred up in a dance.

“I heard it differently.”

“It doesn’t matter what you heard. I was poorly, and he thought it was a ridiculous idea anyway.” George cocked his head to one side, a twinkle in his eye. 

“What idea? You being ill?”

“Oh _fine!_ ” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Reckon he’s told you everything anyways. He said it’d be unbelievable, the two of us getting together. Astounding. _Ridiculous_! Got into a bloody fight running through the mud, and now… Now he’s got Natalia.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , George, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? They’re a perfectly believable pairing. No use getting my knickers in a twist, that’s it.”

Hermione didn’t expect George to laugh at her and tried to pull away from his hold when he did. The Weasleys could be really cruel sometimes, she thought. It must’ve been because living on top of one another for so many years created a level of understanding between them that Hermione hadn’t reached yet. George held her firmly, though, smile only fading slightly when he saw the distress in her eyes.

“Oh, Granger you’ve got it bad.” He twirled her again. Over Fred’s shoulder, Angelina was looking in their direction. “He broke up with Natalia, they’re here as friends. I wonder when that happened, hm?”

Hermione pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I told him to go back to her. I didn’t do anything—“

“I’m not blaming you for it, ‘Mione. He cocked it up all on his own. For the record, though, he’s waiting for you.” Her stomach coiled, her dress felt too tight. “He’s utterly besotted with you, it’s rather disgusting. It’s incurable, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t want dear old Freddie wasting away with a Hermione Granger wannabe when the real thing loves him, too.

_He_ loves _me?_

“I think I’m going to be ill.” 

She fled from the dance floor, running to press herself up against the cool marble by the side of the staircase, hidden behind a large decorative vase exploding with flowers. Hermione doubled over and crouched down, arms wrapping protectively over her middle as she took several deep, steadying breaths. Her anxiety had often resulted in this sort of reaction. Sudden nausea before a test or a speech was common to Hermione and she knew how to deal with it, but she’d never experienced it so often in relation to any one person. This counted experience number two in relation to Fred.

“You’re not going to be ill.” George was standing in front of her. She could tell by his socks (they were a fluorescent yellow and bore the WWW insignia on the outer ankles in metallic purple thread). He crouched down in front of her so that they could be level with each other. “You’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Hermione replied petulantly.

“You’re afraid, Granger. It’s new and exciting and my brother’s a twat at best so I get your hesitation.” George only just caught the witch in front of him crack a smile. “See? Attagirl. You’re fine. He’s scared shitless he’ll send you running again and look at what I’ve done. I did it for him. Now that that’s out of the way, you’re not going to pull another Cinderella are you?” He grabbed both of her hands out from around her body and dragged her upwards until they were both standing. “Not going to run again?”

“This whole thing has been an elaborate prank, hasn’t it? You and Angelina and Ginny and Harry? You’re just mucking with my head.”

“‘Fraid not. I’d never sic Freddie on you, little swot, nobody deserves having to deal with that wanker’s mood swings.”

“George,” Hermione warned. She didn’t like when her boys talked ill about each other, even in jest.

“Look, Hermione. I’ll be totally honest with you but only this once and then I’m back to your neighbourhood no-gooder. My brother is head over heels for you. I’m not entirely sure when it happened but he’s been keeping it in for a while and now that it’s come out it’s time he sees it through. I’m just here to help. Originally, when the waltz starts Angie and I were going to expertly switch partners and you two would act all shy and reserved before realizing you’re on the same page and tearing each other's clothes off but you’ve already pulled a Cinderella once tonight and now I think it’s up to you.”

“Up to me?”

“We can go back over there and I’ll whisk Angie away when it’s time, or we can abandon this whole thing. It’s up to you. Either way, you need to speak to Fred and tell him what you want.”

“I don’t know…” If what George had been telling her was true, then she and Fred actually had a shot at exploring what they meant to each other. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was ready for everything that came with being attached to Fred Weasley, but she knew that being with him felt like coming home. He felt like it did when the sorting hat had called out _GRYFFINDOR!_ and the table had gone wild with applause. There was a spot in her heart reserved for the warm fuzzy feelings that accompanied trust and companionship, for the golden glow that came with loving and being loved in return, and when they were alone together Fred tended to slide right into that spot and make himself at home. But all the same, what if that feeling was just what came with being a part of the family unit that was the Weasley’s? With Ron, the two feelings had been nearly indistinguishable from the other and it had caused more internal strife than it was worth before they’d finally ponied up to each other that there were doubts afoot. But then, being with Fred felt wildly different than being with Ron, or Harry. They were distinctly different types of relationships. Harry and Ron made her feel like Molly’s sweaters did, warm on the outside and thoroughly hugged. Fred made her feel like sipping mulled cider: his touch heated her from the inside and left her smelling cinnamon all day. _It’s worth exploring_ , Hermione decided _, and if it goes sideways I can fix it._ “Alright. I’m in.”

George’s mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Brilliant,” he exclaimed before looping her arm through his and guiding her back to the floor. Her hands shook slightly, but George kept her firmly in his grasp until they reached Fred twirling Angelina, who had a funny look on her face, around in a circle. George hopped between the two, abandoning Hermione a few paces back out of sight of his twin.

“Excuse me, but I think I’ll be taking my girlfriend back. She’s already spent too long with the ugly twin. I don’t think she’ll be able to survive another minute.” George faked a frown and snatched Angie from the spin, hugging her close from behind. “I have a pretty decent replacement, though.” He waggled his eyebrows and pointed behind Fred. 

“Hi.”

Fred spun around and when his eyes met hers Hermione felt _golden_.

“Hello.”

George gave his brother a little push and Fred stumbled forward.

“May I have this dance?” Hermione asked as the music changed and swelled romantically. She was suddenly hit with the nostalgia of begging her father to teach her the basics of a Viennese Waltz after hearing about the Vienna Musikverein.

“Yeah sure.” Fred swallowed. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today begins the beginning of the happy! I'm not entirely sure how far I'm going to go with this story before it hits its natural conclusion (will they or won't they get ~dramatic~ with each other before their happily ever after?), but I think I might do a sequel after if the mood is right! Don't worry though, there's more fremione and their bridge to come in this fic.
> 
> I'm also in the early planning stages of a bit of ~fake dating~ AU which I know is horrifically overdone but it's one of my guilty pleasures. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if there's anything you'd like to see me write in the future!


	14. Harry Potter and the Three Months He Totally Knew What Was Going On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the chosen one, the boy who lived, the kid who killed the dark lord! He just walked into a pole because he didn't see it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my friend Olivia who let me ramble for two hours on how I wanted to present this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it! Please leave a comment or a kudos if you'd like, they always make my day.

Harry James Potter thought he knew his friends rather well, and he was proud of that fact. Ginny and Hermione, however, had always remarked that he maintained a fairly keen ability to sit and nod, completely oblivious to any event occurring around him. He disagreed. He knew when birthdays were, was vaguely aware of anniversaries (though they didn’t really matter if they didn’t belong to him, did they?), and figured he knew his friend’s favourite colours because, well, Molly made them each a sweater every year and she _definitely_ knew their favourite colours. All in all, Harry was rather chuffed with himself. 

When Ron had turned up with Maisy at dinner for the first time, he’d subtly leaned into Ginny and said “I think they’re an item,” to which Ginny replied with a smack on the arm and a hissed “They’ve been dating for two months.” Admittedly, that had been a low point. But then when Neville seemed to be caught between Hannah Abbott and Luna Lovegood, he’d leaned into Ginny and said “He’s dating both of them?” to which Ginny replied with a hum. Harry had been rather proud of himself for getting it right, and then when he’d leaned in again and said “he’ll pick Hannah, though”, Ginny laughed. Eventually, Hannah faded from the group and Neville had made his decision. “He’s only been in love with Luna since sixth year, haven't you noticed?” Ginny teased. Harry vowed to pay _extra_ attention to goings-on after that and he thought he was doing well for himself. To be completely fair, he was still _floored_ by the things that his fiancée revealed each night at dinner, and was generally able to keep up with goings-on through her. But he knew things, at least. He noticed things and wasn’t _completely_ oblivious as Ginny and Hermione always said.

And so when Ginny invited Fred and Hermione over for lunch a few weeks after the engagement ball, naturally Harry saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

“Everything looks fantastic Ginny.”

“I’m sure Kreacher will appreciate that. The nosey little bugger’s probably right behind that door listening to us.” Ginny tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen door. She’d laid out the formal dining table, for what reason Harry wasn’t entirely sure but it was nice to use the room as it wasn’t often he came in here. Two candles and a small bouquet of magical lilies leftover from their party sat at the centre of the mahogany table that had been laid with dishes of peas and carrots, rolls, crispy potatoes, and a gorgeous beef welly. Thank goodness Harry knew he hadn’t somehow missed his anniversary, or he’d think it was a special occasion. 

“Glad you’ve gotten your heads out your arses, by the way.” Ginny spooned food onto her plate and passed each dish towards Harry as she went, who in turn served himself and passed to Hermione who passed to Fred with a smile. "Not that that had anything to do with me, of course."

“Yeah been too long since _either_ of you have come to dinner, now we get both!” Harry laughed, tucking into a roll and slathering it with butter. “Hard to pin you down, let alone together. Was George not free tonight, Fred?” 

Hermione grinned and looked down at her lap, sneaking a glance to Fred out of the corner of her eye. Something in Harry’s mind twitched a bit but he supposed Hermione was just shy tonight and hoping to get back to her research when last they’d spoken she had been heading to meet with Professor Slughorn to ask about a possible recipe for a salve. Harry shrugged and shovelled a forkful of potato into his mouth

* * *

The week later, Harry ran into Hermione in the Headmistress’ tower. She had been meeting with Minerva to discuss the possible transfiguration qualities involved in a cursed object creating marks on human skin. Their meeting had run late and when Harry turned up to discuss the possibility of one of his students’ seeking special study over the summer, Minerva and Hermione had been softly laughing with each other.

“Respectfully, Miss Granger–”

“ _Hermione_.”

“–Hermione, the combination seems volatile. I’ll be tendering my resignation in exactly eleven years.”

“Respectfully, Professor–”

“ _Minerva_.”

“Of course, I think it’ll be at least a little while longer than eleven years. We’ve only just begun. Oh! Harry, hello!” Hermione greeted Harry when she noticed him, lingering in the doorway watching over the exchange with a somewhat perplexed look across his face.

“Sorry, am I early?” He shifted in the door, feeling very much like a schoolboy awaiting a meeting with Professor Dumbledore about something that would probably end up putting him in grave peril. He had never seen such mirth in his former transfiguration teacher’s eyes, and there was a slight blush creeping across Hermione’s face. It was an odd sight between the two who he had always assumed held a more studious and… professional relationship. Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear and he was momentarily reminded of her giddy look entering the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum of all people.

“Have you ever been early, Harry?” Hermione said fondly, standing up from her chair and sending her teacup to wash itself up. “I’m afraid I’ve kept Professor McGonagall–”

“Honestly, Hermione.”

“Sorry, sorry, still strange! I’ve run Minerva long, I’ll head out. Thank you so very much for your help, and the tea. I’ll owl you if I have any more questions?” Harry thought Hermione looked rather graceful as she swung her heather grey cloak around her to settle on her shoulders. 

“Quite, Hermione. Do let me know if you make a connection. And really, I’m very happy for you both, but please give me some time to get my affairs in order before it's _me_ being chased out of the castle in a trail of fireworks.”

“Will do, I promise,” Hermione said with a chuckle, grabbing a fistful of floo powder from the ornamental pot that their former Professor held out to her. “See you around, Harry!” Harry shrugged and plopped down into the chair she’d vacated and resolved to ask about whatever joke was so funny when he’d arrived.

“Right, Rory Fitzmorris’ parents owled me back about summer apprenticeships and they’ve given permission. I think we ought to submit him for MACUSA’s A.D.D.E.R. program.”

“Yes, the Auror Defense and Diligence Education Resource seems like a perfectly acceptable training program for young Mr. Fitzmorris. Should he do well there he’ll have a clear path through to our Ministry, if he wishes.” 

Harry promptly forgot to ask McGonagall what she’d been talking about with Hermione.

* * *

Due to their conflicting schedules, Harry didn’t see Hermione again for quite some time, not until Ron got some time off of work and invited him round for a drink and a game of chess one weekend in mid-February. She’d been travelling for her research a lot and had missed several Sunday dinners as well, which he'd noticed was making one of the twins very glum (which one he couldn’t be sure. When Angelina wasn’t around it was still a bloody nightmare for him to tell the two apart). 

“Mate you never get any better at this. Knight to D6.” Ron crunched on a biscuit happy as he watched his knight crush Harry’s bishop under its horse’s hooves. Harry winced as his piece was flung off the board.

“Yeah well, l since I got the basics you’ve never stopped to teach me how to play. Queen to D6.” Harry polished off the bottle of stout he’d been nursing. “You just like winning, you utter wanker.”

“Queen to D6,” Though Ron’s bottle was still a quarter full, he gulped it down and held it across the board for Harry. “Get me another when I beat you.”

“Get your own! Rook to H2.” Harry’s rook brutalized Ron’s pawn. 

“Queen to D7. Check” 

“You really think you’ve got me? King to F8.”

“Mate, I _do_! Queen to E8. Checkmate.” Harry’s king relinquished his sword and all the pieces were still. Ron burst out in raucous laughter. “Every time!” He leaned back on the couch and clutched at his ribs. “Get me another beer, Hazza.”

Harry swiped Ron’s bottle from the table and headed towards the kitchen. It was probably good that Fred seemed to do all of the cooking in his and Ron’s flat or else the refrigerator might have been organized so poorly Harry wouldn’t have found the last two bottles hiding in the door. As he leant down to grab them he heard the _whoosh_ of the floo. 

“Right Ronnikins, look after the flat. Don’t burn anything down.”

“Oi, it was _one time!_ ”

“And I rightfully took away your stovetop privileges afterwards, yes.” Harry chucked the empty bottles in the bin and started towards the hall. Fred had every right to admonish Ron. Harry had been floo-called in a panic when Ron couldn’t tamp down the flames. Turned out he had been trying to extinguish them with magic and had forgotten that unless you turn the gas off the flames would spring up again.

“I’m an adult you know.”

“Come on, Fred, leave him alone. We’ll be late for our reservation.”

“Right, back in a jiff.” Harry caught a glimpse of the elder redhead as he strolled past the kitchen into his bedroom. He wandered back into the living room to find Hermione, dressed in a cream coloured wool coat, a silky rose blouse and dark jeans, waiting impatiently by the fireplace. 

“Hermione! I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” He cracked open the beers against the coffee table and handed one to Ron.

“Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “You know I have plans.” She reached out and stole his beer from him, taking a quick sip before screwing up her nose in disgust and handing it back. “How you drink that swill I’ll never know.” 

Fred emerged once again, a small satchel draped over his shoulder. Curiously, Harry could see he was wearing a rather nice button-down under his sweater. “Right then, we’re off. Granger, don’t get your knickers in a twist. We’ll apparate from the street, I promise, won’t be late at all.” He started towards the door in the flat that lead down through the joke shop and out to Diagon Alley. “After you, milady,” he offered, holding the door open. Hermione started to follow before she stopped suddenly.

“Oh! Harry, I promised Ginny I’d let you know: the surprise is ready.” She grinned and blew a kiss at her boys before disappearing down the staircase. 

“Happy Valentines Day,” said Fred with a wink before he, too, descended downstairs.

“Oh, bugger I forgot.” Harry glanced at his watch and hastily set down his drink. “Night, mate!” He exclaimed, grabbing his coat, a fist of floo powder and calling out: _12 Grimmauld Place!_ In all his fervour to get home to his fiancée for whatever surprise she had in store, Harry didn’t ask Ron why Fred and Hermione were going to dinner on _that_ day of all days. Once he spied Ginny, laid out in their lounge in some obscenely lacey thing underneath her open Harpies robe he promptly forgot about the rest of the world.

* * *

And so for the next few weeks, Harry overheard his fiancées giddy floo calls with Hermione in the middle of the night. In early March he saw the headline in the papers and dismissed it as fodder for the nonsensical masses. When he visited the Ministry’s Influenced Very Young (I.V.Y.) rehabilitation program as he did every year on Kingsley’s request, Draco Malfoy even praised the pair which Harry took to be confirmation that it was all an overblown prank. And so Harry believed he finally understood what had been going on all these months.

It was, most certainly, a long-con prank to be revealed on April 1st. Good one, Fred and George.

* * *

As he watched the match, Teddy’s hair filtered rapidly from red to blonde, back to red and then to black, back to red _again_ to brown, with the occasional burst of the turquoise colour he’d been favouring recently. Bless Andromeda for taking care of such a wild, yet sweet, little boy. Harry held him tightly against his hip as the classic Weasley family quidditch game raged on above them. The weather was beginning to turn warmer, but grey clouds still hung from the sky threatening spring showers any minute, and Teddy was enjoying being rid of his puffy coat for the first time in many months. 

It was the final day of March 2002, and tomorrow was Fred and George’s twenty-fourth birthday. The entire family had gathered for Sunday dinner as was traditional, and would all be staying at the Burrow overnight for festivities the next day. From what Harry knew, Ron and Maisy would be staying in Ron’s room, Angelina and George would be in the Twins’, and he would be bunking with Ginny in her, turned half-Hermione’s, room. Percy and Audrey were here and would be staying in the formers old room, as were Bill, Fleur, and Victoire who would be in his and Charlie’s. Charlie had been relegated to the couch. Curiously, Molly’s posted room assignments (she had actually fixed a parchment with the list to the bannister at the bottom of the stairs with a sticking charm) excluded Fred and Hermione, who Harry figured would be rather miffed at finding themselves forgotten but did not seem to mind one bit. Fred must've been staying at his flat, but Harry wasn't sure what the reasoning for Ron staying at the burrow was when he had a perfectly good bed to run off to instead of leaving Hermione high and dry. Besides, it wasn't like Hermione would be spending the night at Fred, and Ron's, flat, would she?

“Auntie!” Teddy squealed happily as Ginny swooped by them in pursuit of the snitch. She slowed and winked before zipping forward and surpassing Audrey as they hurtled into the clouds. Harry had sat out of this match in favour of spending some time with his godson and was enjoying listening to the almost-four-year-old babble about the game. The teams consisted of Charlie, Ginny, Angelina, and Fred and the other of Ron, Audrey, Bill, and George, all playing as keeper, seeker, chaser and beater respectively. It was a formidable lineup. Harry was on the sidelines with Percy, Andromeda, Hermione, and Arthur (who didn’t seem to be able to keep the teams straight and cheered for anybody in the sky). Inside, Fleur and Maisy were helping Molly with dinner as Victoire was down for a nap. 

The match was stalled at 160 to 160, the siblings and partners far too evenly matched and familiar with each other's movements to make any sort of headway. It was hour number two, and across the fields, Harry could see the clouds darkening as they approached. There was an unspoken rule that if it were actively raining the game ended, as Molly insisted (“I won’t have you lot dragging the whole swamp indoors! Not on Sundays!”). 

“Come on, Fred!” Hermione shouted as George whacked a bludger in his twin’s direction. She eagerly pumped her fist as he shot it back, narrowly missing Bill in the path he drove towards his brother. 

“Play nice, Hermione!” Bill yelled down a wide smile across his face. 

Ginny and Audrey were still buried in the ever-darkening clouds, causing Harry only mild worry. His future wife was more than fine, she was a professional, and Audrey was surely holding her own, but still, he knew the dangers of lightning. Ron narrowly blocked a shot from Angelina as Audrey emerged from the cover, absolutely soaked from the cloudcover, followed closely by Ginny. The two floated down leisurely even as the game raged beneath them. Bill had the quaffle halfway to Charlie’s posts when the girls were in close enough range for Fred to spot the snitch in his little sister’s hand. 

“Stop! Stop! She’s got it!”

“What? Who’s got it?” Hermione called from beside Harry. He had never seen her so incensed by a game of Quidditch.

“I’ve got it! We win!” Ginny cried doing a loop on her broomstick. 

“Well done!” Arthur cheered while his children and friends touched down to Earth again, as soon as they did the heavens opened and a gentle rain began to fall. “And what timing! Good show, everybody.” 

Fleur poked her head out from the door. “Iz eet over? _Bon_. Dinner iz ready. _Allez viens!_ ” 

After they’d all been seated, and Teddy and Victoire tended to, the dishes began to be passed about, zigzagging across the table. For a while everything continued as usual, with the Weasley clan amiably chatting, creating a raucous din that was music to Harry’s ears. This large, loving family was all he really needed in the world. It felt wonderful to be around all these people he knew and loved so well, to be at home in the world as he was. 

“Alright,” Hermione announced as Ginny and Fleur were bringing the pudding around (a rather delicious looking, and bloody massive, treacle tart) and serving everybody a slice. “I have an announcement!”

At once the clinking of glass and silverware calmed and all heads, ginger or otherwise, turned to face the curly-haired woman. Under everyone’s gaze, Hermione seemed to grow anxious and excitedly grimaced at Fred, sat across from her, before she began. 

“Well, as you all know I’ve been staying with Molly and Arthur since the Battle.” The air grew heavy for a moment. “And it’s been wonderful here, being able to throw myself into… recovery and _dis_ covery. Thank you, Molly, for allowing me to barge in on your empty nest for so long, and Arthur for all your wonderful help in my research. But, now that I’ve officially submitted my new discovery for approval and patenting-” a gasp rang around the room. This was news to everybody. Harry hadn’t been aware she’d finished it! His gaze flitted to her forearm, wondering if he’d somehow missed it and the scar was truly gone, but she had her sleeves rolled down. “Right, I know you all want to know if it’s worked. I … Well, truthfully I haven’t tried it on myself yet, _but_ it works. It does.” Hermione smiled shyly, before continuing, “and now that I’ve accomplished the two biggest things on that list I made all those years ago I think it’s time that I move on. It’s been the most wonderful few years living here, being a part of the epicentre of your family but… I’m… Well, I’m twenty-two and it’s high time that I move out, isn’t it?”

“YES!” There was a great shout and a scraping of chair legs as Ron stood and ran all the way around the table, the long way, to reach his best friend. He hugged her around the chair, dancing giddily all the while. “ _Finally!”_

Hermione laughed and patted the arm that was embracing her tight across her collarbone. “Why are _you_ so excited, Ronald?” she asked, wheezing a bit from his grasp.

“I get the flat to myself!” He released her and pumped a fist. “Maisy, no more movie nights at your parents! It’s all ours!” Ron ran a victory lap around the table, then doubled back to hit Fred upside the back of his head (“Oi! Not _all_ yours!”), before finding his seat once more and planting a kiss on his girlfriend’s cheek. The table as a collective seemed to get the joke and chuckled along with Ron’s antics but Harry just sat there in confusion.

“Why would you have the flat to yourself? It’s not as if Hermione’s your roommate.” 

“No, but she may as well be.” Hermione reached over and attempted to hit Ron but only barely missed across the table. 

“Prat. I wasn’t over _that_ much. We were rather reasonable I should think.” At the very same time, Fred and Hermione scrunched up their noses and stuck them out in Ron’s direction. Harry still didn’t understand. Well, he didn’t understand until Fred stood and leant across the table, arms outstretched to steady himself above the dishware and glasses, rising on tiptoes so he could reach and give Hermione a little peck on the lips. 

He must have made some sort of spluttering sound because the next thing Harry knew everybody was staring at him and Ginny was asking from some far-away place _“Harry are you alright?”_ as her hands raked over his shoulders. 

“You… you’re? You–” he looked at Hermione, “and… _you?_ ” he looked at Fred. "You weren't joking?"

“What, did you not know?” Hermione said incredulously, shaking her head in amused disbelief. “Oh, Harry, you really are the most oblivious man I’ve ever met.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Harry Potter and the Three Months He Didn't Know His Friends Were Dating.


	15. You turn me on to the idea of getting old.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione moves into her new flat with a little help (and a little distraction) from Fred. The night doesn't end as anyone could have planned.

It wasn’t hard moving from the Burrow to her new flat, or at least it wasn’t _physically_ difficult. There were quite a lot of emotions wrapped around moving into her very first home and this would be the first time Hermione had ever lived on her own. When she’d attended Hogwarts it had been her first time living away from her parents. When she’d gone on the run with Harry and Ron it had been her first time providing for herself. Moving back into the Burrow had felt like moving back in with her family and into Gryffindor all in one, and though she had mainly provided for herself, the presence of the elder Weasleys had been a security blanket. Now, standing alone in the future living area of her flat, Hermione found herself a little overwhelmed. There was a funny tightening in her chest. _My parents should be here to see this_ , she thought to herself before shaking her head and reminding herself that they _would_ as Monica and Wendell Wilkins had been slowly regaining memories of their lives as Richard and Jean Granger with little side effects. As of yet, they hadn’t recalled their daughter, but healers had told Hermione that their memories were up to the year 1977, so it was only a matter of time. 

Her new flat was very posh and impressive if a tiny bit small, and Hermione thought her mother would be especially impressed. Thanks to the success of her first creation, she had made quite a bit of money for herself off the potion’s licensing (and that was just half the profits of course, as Flitwick would receive the other portion) and had her pick of flats across London. Eventually, Hermione knew she wanted to move into a cottage not dissimilar to the Burrow, with its family-style living room and sprawling grounds. For now, a well maintained flat in Muggle London by the V&A would do very nicely. 

All of the walls were a light cream colour, and the wainscoting was in a champagne colour with a satin finish. The ceilings were high, and above the kitchen nook was a loft that was wall-to-wall with built-in bookshelves. There were two bedrooms, both with enormous windows looking out onto the picturesque street and white-bricked townhouses on it. In each bedroom was a fireplace with the original brick and wooden mantels, as there was in the open-plan living space between the kitchen nook and den area. Possibly Hermione’s favourite part, though, was the oversized porcelain bath with clawed feet that reminded her very much of Buckbeak.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Never one for divination, Hermione held herself back from declaring this would be the start of something wonderful and bright, but she felt it would be nevertheless. Outside, a dog yipped happily as it’s owner took it out for a walk to nearby Hyde Park, and Hermione brought herself back to reality. All of her belongings from the Burrow and her parent’s old place were tucked in her little purse, waiting to be enlarged and unpacked and she was itching to get it done. Alas, Hermione had promised Fred to wait until he arrived. 

Fred had come with Hermione on her visit to pick up the keys from the estate agent who’d helped her purchase the flat, and he’d been floored to see what she had procured for herself. He made a big fuss over celebrating this step in her life together, seemingly understanding the melancholy feelings that rushed through her when she thought about her parents and how much of her life they had ended up missing out on. 

No sooner than Hermione had tugged open the strings of her bag than she spied Fred passing by her window. Her flat’s buzzer rang out through the open space, echoing slightly as the sound bounced around. Hermione grinned, _it’s about time._ She set her bag down on the ground and bounded towards her front door excitedly, holding it open with one foot as she leaned forward into the hall to _just_ reach the handle to the building’s entrance. 

“Big day!” Fred exclaimed, stepping inside instantly and following Hermione into her flat. “Hm, are you sure this is the right one? It’s rather _twee_ , don’t you think?” 

“Oh, come off it,” Hermione giggled, “I’m pleased with it.”

Fred surged forward and engulfed her in a hug, lifting her off the ground. Hermione’s hair flew everywhere, blinding him as he turned them in circles, making her laugh. When he set her down, Fred’s hand found its way into her hair and he pressed a kiss to her mouth, enjoying the way that it stretched out into a smile when he did so. 

The first three months of 2002 had flown by. New Year's Eve had been the catalyst to a yet another world that Hermione hadn’t known it was possible to be a part of. How silly she was to assume all of her world-discovering was over when Professor McGonagall stepped through the door on her eleventh birthday. At first, neither of them had been willing to bring up the reason they were dancing together. Hermione knew very well that George had put her up to it for a reason, he was the twin he would have to have good insight on Fred and had made it clear it wasn’t all a joke. Fred knew very well that his sister was one of the only people that Hermione confided in, aside from Ron and Harry, and that if anyone knew how she felt it would be Ginny. So they’d exchanged pleasantries (“Your dress is lovely,” “I like your tie.”) and Fred led her around the dancefloor with surprising grace. When the song changed again, and neither of them made a move to step away, their careful countenance began to wither and shrink away revealing the raw emotions each person harboured for the other. Fred’s hand had pulled her in, just a little tighter and Hermione followed suit by holding herself a little closer and the rest became history. They didn’t speak, they didn’t look away, they bathed in the other’s aura the whole night. 

Only when it was time to count down into the new year did the pair come back down to Earth. Fred led her out onto a magically charmed terrace – they weren’t actually outside, but the sky above looked like it and there was a faint breeze swirling about the room – for the final moments of 2001. Tucked away in the hidden sanctuary, Hermione and Fred celebrated the turn of the new year. He’d taken her cheek in his palm and pressed a gentle, loving kiss upon her lips before wrapping an arm around her waist and swinging her down into a deep dip causing Hermione to throw her head back in laughter before pulling him further towards her and kissing him passionately. They’d ended up in a heap on the ground, flushed and giddy.

“Right then! Where do we start?”

“Everything’s in my bag, I suppose we start in here?” Hermione gestured to the open living area. The majority of the furniture she had in her possession was furniture from her childhood home. When her parents moved to Australia, they’d sold the house. It was an inevitability that Hermione had taken into account and she’d seen to it that all of the furniture they sold would end up, as if by magic, in a family trust under her name. It was by pure happenstance that her parents had never sought after the money from the furniture sales they’d never seen. 

Fred plucked the bag from the ground and exuberantly reached in. He was shoulder deep before he remembered that he was, in fact, a wizard and that he did, in fact, have a wand he could use to _accio_ the shrunken furniture out without fishing around in the impossibly extended pouch. Hermione watched, amused, as piece after piece whizzed out of her bag and set itself around the room where Fred seemed to think they belonged. A box or two labelled “kitchen” flew across to the kitchen counters, and then her miniaturized bed zoomed through her bedroom door. He made a face down into the purse as if to say _is that all_? And then plunged his arm back down into it. When it emerged, Fred’s fist opened to reveal Hermione’s father’s upright piano and an excited grin stretched across his face.

“You have a piano!” He walked to the wall across from her little fireplace and set the piano down, “ _Engorgio_!” It grew to standard size. Fred fished a sweet from his pocket and transfigured it into a piano bench that matched the style and wood. Before she realized, Hermione was listening to Fred’s fingers dance across the keys. 

“I didn’t know you could play?”

“Learned to impress a muggle girl when I was thirteen.” 

“And you still practice?” The imaginary sticking curse on her feet that seemed to take over as he unpacked lifted and Hermione crossed to lean against her piano and watch him play.

“Occasionally.” Fred looked up at her. “Might’ve taken it up again when I heard you were a fan.” He looked back down at his hands, switching from the uptempo song he’d been playing to Für Elise, which was the only song that she still knew how to play by heart. Her father had taught her it the summer before she’d started Hogwarts. 

“Ron was rubbish at this.” She said fondly, remembering the brief break in their Horcrux hunt while they had been staying at Grimmauld Place. In retrospect, Ron had probably been flirting with her by pretending to be much worse than he was.

“But _I_ am great.” Fred’s hands stilled on the keys. “Is this a good place for it? I can move it, I just thought that–”

“No, it’s lovely. The way that the light hits it…” Hermione looked up to the window, the panes in the glass were creating a rather lovely pattern that spilt across the floor and onto the music stand built into the piano. Drawing out her wand, Hermione enlarged her pale mauve couch and manoeuvred it to face the fireplace with it’s back to the piano. She plopped down in it, leaning against the arm, able to look out both the window and turn to see Fred still sitting at the piano if she pleased. “I should think I’ll rather enjoy watching you play here.” 

“You’ll have to hire me if you want entertainment while you read your _many_ tomes, madam.” Fred stood, meandering slowly towards her as he spoke. When he reached her, he leant down and tilted her chin upwards with a knuckle. “But we can work out some form of payment, can’t we?” 

“Hmm, maybe I could be amenable to that.” Hermione pushed herself up on the cushions and met his lips with hers. Enlarging all of her furniture could wait for later, she supposed.

* * *

It was dusk by the time they pulled themselves from the couch to return the rest of Hermione’s belongings to their proper state. Luckily, Fred had the forethought to cast a concealment charm across the windows as they hadn’t had time to put up her curtains before they’d become lost in each other; they’d laid there together watching the sunset creep over the skyline. As Hermione pulled her jeans back over her bum, Fred appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his chin rest against her shoulder. She shivered, not that it was particularly cold in her flat, but even after four months in his company Hermione still found that Fred made her a little nervous.

“Your arse looks fantastic in those, by the way.” Hermione laughed, tipping her head back against his chest as he squeezed her closer and spun her out into the room. “Not as fantastic as it does _without_ them of course.”

“What a gentleman!” Hermione exclaimed, plucking her bra from the window sill where Fred had thrown it in haste. 

“Would you say no if I suggested we spend the rest of the night in our skivvies?” Now he was the one pulling his trousers over his arse, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin stupidly as he pouted. This was a game of Fred’s, trying to keep her undressed and ogle her as long as he wanted while Hermione pretended that there was somewhere she simply _had_ to get to. It had never been a particularly long game before now, usually, Ron or the Weasley Matriarchs ended the pair’s fun in a stalemate of sorts.

“Only if we can get takeaway first?” Hermione bit her lip and watched her boyfriend’s Adam's apple bob. It paid to know his little quirks, sometimes. 

Fred stooped to pick up her shirt and chucked it in her direction. She caught it deftly and tugged it over her head before he ran his classic offence and gathered her up again, peppering kisses to the side of her jaw. Hermione pushed him away with a smirk and pranced towards the door, summoning her shoes and stepping into them when they arrived at her feet. Fred gazed after her, feeling rather competitive.

“You’re on.” He followed closely after her, slipping on his ratty trainers as he went. “Kebab?” Hermione nodded and _accio_ ’d her keys and muggle wallet from the kitchen as she pulled open her front door and stuffed her wand into the waistband of her jeans – it had become her go-to hiding spot for the magical conduit since the war, as it was easily accessible and she didn’t often have need to sit anywhere that she felt vulnerable. 

The pair traipsed down the street, passing by Kensington Gardens on their way to get a hearty meal of kebab and greasy chips. It was only as they strolled past the Princess Diana Memorial Playground that Hermione realized she had inadvertently placed herself in the heart of posh muggle society. That hadn’t been her purpose in seeking out her new flat in such a lavish area of London, but the area just north of Kensington had always been rumoured to be an old hub of wizarding aristocrats and she supposed she enjoyed the myth. Though it had been seized by the Ministry after the war, Hermione knew that the Malfoy’s once had a lux townhome in nearby Pembridge Square so there must be some validity to the rumours. 

As they turned the corner and passed Queensway station, something most peculiar indeed happened. Hermione was pushed back from crossing the street as an owl of all things flew right in front of her. She blinked a moment and looked around noting that it had disappeared into the evening and continued on behind Fred until she reached the other side. Then, it happened again. This time it was Fred who was accosted by the bird, the _same_ bird. 

“Was that an owl?” Hermione heard somebody emerging from a shop mutter, and she stopped a moment to gape up at the sky. Fred paused, watching his girlfriend’s brows furrow and a frown come across her face.

“What is it?”

“That was definitely an owl.” She turned her gaze back to the street, straining her eyes down the passage to see if any more aviary interruptions would soon be coming along. Her hand hovered at her hip, ready to draw her wand at the first sign of trouble. “You see, owls aren’t common in this part of London.” Fred nodded, and Hermione could tell that his fingers were twitching in the direction of his wand as well. 

They made it to the Kebab place without any more owlish divebombs blocking their path, ordered a ridiculous amount of food for two people (Molly would’ve told Fred to go easy on the chips but in reality is was Hermione who would end up scarfing them down herself) and made their way back onto the street. 

“That’s odd.” Hermione stopped abruptly, causing Fred to nearly topple her over as he smashed into her from behind, only catching himself with an arm around her midsection. 

“What’s odd?” She didn’t answer him but merely pointed up at the store across the way. Four owls were sitting neatly in a row on the roof. 

“We should get out of here, get back,” Fred murmured, removing his arm from her waist and taking her hand. “You have your mail delivery set up, yeah?”

“I do,” Hermione said quietly. “Don’t know why they’d be chasing me down, though.” One of the first things she’d seen to when renting the new flat, was setting up the delivery systems that had become standard for witches and wizards living in muggle townships. When an owl arrived it would deposit any letters, mail, or newspapers into a little tube masquerading as a chimney pipe on top of the building, and would magically appear in a basket by her door. “What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure. Last time owls were in the streets was…” In the hand that wasn’t holding hers, Fred swung their bag of takeaway. “When Harry offed the noseless tosser?” Hermione snorted and caught the glimpse of a smile on her boyfriend's face. It wasn’t very far, but they weren’t dawdling either, and the bag heaved to-and-fro as they made their way back around the corner, past Kensington Gardens, and finally onto her street. Approaching Hermione’s flat the couple found the same curious incident: the four owls had followed them and were circling the roof of her building. Hurrying inside, Hermione wasn’t entirely pleased to see a pile of letters, some very messily sealed or tied together, waiting for her in the basket.

Fred set the food on her kitchen counter and set about enlarging Hermione’s furniture while she tore open the letters. She started from the top to bottom, in backwards order from how they’d arrived. 

_Hermione_ –

_Tried to floo call but you haven’t turned it on yet. Have you heard? We’re on our way to meet you, sit tight when you get there, it’ll be just fine._

_\- Ginny_

She scrunched up her nose and cocked her head gently to the side. How peculiar. Waving away Fred’s “What’s happening?”, Hermione let Ginny’s letter float to the ground and tore open the next in the pile. This time it was written in Harry’s unmistakable chicken scratch.

_You’re coming by ours after, we have lots of scotch._

This letter, too, Hermione let fall to the ground. She tore off the ribbon from the next.

_They sent your letter here by accident, I figure you haven’t gotten around to changing your address with the hospital? I’d see to that. I’m sorry I opened it before paying any attention to the contents. I can have Harry meet you if you need someone? Hermione, your parents–_

She didn’t drop Molly’s letter but tucked it under the next up in the pile. What did they mean about her parents? What was going on with her parents? _The hospital_? Hermione’s mind was moving sluggishly, and her hands had begun to tremble. At some point, she wasn’t sure, Fred had come to stand behind her and was reading the letters over her shoulder. He had one hand holding tightly to her arm. 

The next letter was from St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which housed the inpatient care centre where her parents were staying as they were being treated with the anti-obliviate potion. 

_Miss Granger,_

_I do hope this letter finds you in good health. I am writing to inform you of a breakthrough in treatment that your father experienced late this afternoon. Per your request, we would not be informing you of this news if we did not think it was absolutely vital that you are here to understand and approve the next courses of treatment, after all, you are one half of the team of inventors._

_We shall discuss this in more depth when you arrive, but your father has remembered the entirety of his life up to the moment of obliviation. Your mother is now in critical condition care following his questioning of her memory, but her vitals remain stable. Her upgraded status is more of a precaution, we assure you. She has, however, shown signs of her memory jumping forward in order to catch up. We have separated them into different wards to forgo any possible additional treatment contamination._

_It is imperative that you come to assess these changes as soon as you can, Miss Granger, as you have previously with early candidates for the potion’s efficacy, and to approve changes in care as their magical guardian._

_See you shortly,_

_Healer Matthias_

“Hermione,” Fred murmured from behind her, “we’ve got to go.” Something wet rolled down Hermione’s cheek and she made a sudden, furious move to brush it off. Fred’s hand slipped from its gentle grasp on her arm. He tugged open the fridge and slid the bag of takeaway inside before returning to Hermione and taking the letter from her hand. “Love, we’ve got to go see your parents. Your dad… Hermione your _dad!_ ” 

She looked up and met his eyes. He didn’t seem to understand, Hermione thought, he didn’t seem to understand that this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Since the end of the war, Hermione had always harboured secret, horrible notions that it was a blessing her parents didn't remember what she had done to them. They didn’t remember their daughter, the witch, the one they were so proud of that kept returning home holiday after holiday with an ever-increasingly broken-down spirit. First-year, no friends, Second year, _mudblood_ , Third Year, Fourth Year, Fifth Year, Sixth Year… It only got worse and worse, and Hermione had found herself hiding the truth from the two people she should have trusted most in the world. Even despite her best attempts to shield them from the horrors that her magical world kept, those nightmares leaked out. Between Second and Third year, Hermione would wake in the middle of the night screaming about being petrified, an occasion that she hadn’t been able to hide as McGonagall had notified them the moment it happened. Between Fourth and Fifth, she’d been unable to shake the cold, unseeing eyes of Cedric Diggory and had teetered back and forth between moods like a see-saw on a well-loved playground. After her Fifth year and the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Hermione hadn’t gone home at all. Luckily for her, her parents had become engaged in a tour of America with the British Dental Association. And of course, after her Sixth year, she had obliviated them and removed herself from their lives forever.

Well, apparently not.

A part of Hermione wondered if she regretted inventing the potion. 

A part of her wanted to say yes, she did. 

“They’re going to hate me.” Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face. “They’re not going to understand. And my _mum_ … Mum isn’t… Fred, what if she goes crazy? Like the others? Like the Longbottoms?”

“Hey,” Fred squeezed her hands but Hermione couldn’t see, her vision was filled with dancing black spots. “It’s going to be okay. Your dad’s okay! You did everything right, Granger. You kept them safe, they’re going to forgive you.” He drew her into his chest and held her tightly, “we’ve got to go see them. Come on, love.”

All she could do was follow him outside, and let herself be whisked away to St. Mungo’s with a _pop!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took a while to get out! It was my birthday and then life just got in the way. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far! I always appreciate your feedback.


	16. They burned the bridge then ask why I don't visit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione visits her father at St. Mungo's, Fred helps her pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about how long this took. This chapter was surprisingly difficult for me to create, content-wise. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you haven't noticed already, I've changed the summary for this story slightly. I felt as if I'd outgrown the original plot but that this story isn't quite over yet, so it was time for a change. She's still Changing.

St. Mungo's smelled faintly of marjoram and copper. Last time, the hallowed halls of the hospital hadn't yet rid themselves of the reek of blood and dust. If Hermione wasn't revoltingly familiar with the smell of Dittany, she might have thought it was an improvement. The wizard behind the welcome desk recognized her immediately, never asking to see her wand as identification. He asked who she was here to see and let her through to the door atrium. Fred stuck close by her as she lead him to a nondescript door across from where they entered. It was perturbing that Mungo's was set up like the Department of Mysteries, though Hermione knew that she was one of the few who'd seen both.

The Mental Maladies wing was more populated than she remembered it from when the aurors recovered her parents from Australia. The war had followed them there. Somebody had slipped something to the Death Eaters about Hermione's peculiar lack of concern for seeing her family before the war. Mundungus had most likely spilled, and they'd been sought out after Voldemort's demise. It was only luck that vengeful Death Eaters had misunderstood what sorts of healers her parents were and targeted the wrong practice. Due to the Australian Ministry's vigilance, only three muggles sustained any injuries. Nobody had died.

"Miss Granger!" Somebody called from down the hall. Stepping up beside her, Fred took her hand in his and squeezed. "Miss Granger, this way. They've moved into a more... private room." It was a junior healer, beckoning the pair down the hall.

Hermione followed, trying her hardest not to peek inside the open wards. She didn't think it would help to see others afflicted in the same way as her parents. It could be there were others that she'd inflicted the curse upon, though it was unlike the Ministry to leave them out in the open. She held Fred's hand like a lifeline.

They entered the hall leading to a collection of private wards. Hermione knew this place well. It was where she and Flitwick had conducted their research on patients whose memory was long affected, with family who had long run out of hope. It was where the Longbottoms lived. It was where Lockhart continued to rot.

"Are you alright?" Fred whispered in her ear. The very last door had a plaque on it labelled Granger/Wilkins. Hermione swallowed down the guilt and bile that rose in her throat and nodded.

"Miss Granger, I don't mean to inconvenience you but it may not be best to bring any guests in with you today." The junior healer smiled kindly at Fred. "No offense, of course, Mister Weasley. I love your product."

"None taken, Healer...?"

"Junior Healer Danvers." He gestured at his robes. "Pink for the junior healers, seafoam for the seniors." Fred made an agreeable sound. "Well then, Miss Granger. Are you ready? Healer Matthias is waiting inside."

Hermione glanced at Fred, who looked back with nothing but grace and fortitude in his gaze. She willed herself to assimilate some of his confidence. "Yes," she breathed, steeling herself. Junior Healer Danvers nodded, pushing open the door and guiding her inside. They came upon a pair of doors, this time labelled Granger and Wilkins in turn. Hermione's brows furrowed.

"Healer Matthias has labelled each door with whatever name the patient inside responds to. That way, in case of emergency wherein the patient gets a little too curious, their memory won't be compromised. Not to mention, it's a nice bit of spellwork. It responds to the mental fortitude of the subject. While we had them together for a while, as you know, the second your father's memory started ... ticking, let's say, we moved him to the second room. Today we came in and it said,  _ Granger _ ."

"So, you keep track of them by what they think their last name is?"

"We do more than that, of course, but it prevented our having to check on them more than average. Before the potion began to kick in, they were both under the impression that they were at a ... what do you call it? A dentistry conference."

"Yes, that's right. Matthias' idea?"

"Said he thought they might do well with a familiar setting. He meant to ask you if it seemed appropriate when you visited but..."

"But I never visited. I understand." Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, is it my father first or my mother?" Answering her question without words, the  _ Wilkins _ door opened and Healer Matthias appeared.

"Ah Hermione, it's a pleasure to see you again." He stuck his hand out and she shook it with a firm grasp. "I'd like to explain your mother's situation before we move on if that's alright?"

"Of course. I-if you don't mind... Could we not go in? I'm afraid I don't..." Hermione sighed, "I'm not ready."

An obliging smile crossed Healer Matthias' face, and he nodded. "Of course, it's not a problem. As you know, we've placed your mother in a stasis of sorts. Rather like what your parents might call a comma?"

"Coma," Hermione corrected.

"Yes, thank you. We've done this to preserve her memories as your potion works its way through them. Now, we've had to dilute the dosage even further, as it seems there is something about her physiology that has isolated the anti-obliviate spell and latched onto it. Now, this isn't something we've noticed in your father, but that isn't uncommon historically in those with magic backgrounds."

"My father isn't magic, though."

"No, you're right, but I wouldn't be surprised if somebody in your paternal lineage was a wizard or even a squib. Not recently, but far enough back. Perchance in the fourteenth century? There's been a fair few studies out of the Russian Wizarding Federation that point in the direction of that century when it comes to obliviate-resisting maladies. All this to say, your father, nor your grandfather, nor  _ his _ grandfather, nor his  _ great, great _ grandfather was a wizard, don't worry about that. But, it means that your father is having a much easier time digesting such complex spell and potion work, whereas your totally Muggle mother..."

"Is struggling. And resisting. I understand."

"This is why your potion is such a boon to both the magical and muggle communities alike. Before your invention, muggles stricken by such powerful mind magic were certainly incurable. Wizards had a chance. It's only because you were able to stabilize the anti-obliviate spell with the solution you suspended it in that we're able to do what we've done."

"That's very kind of you, but I had a lot of help by a great charms master, Filius Flitwick."

"Yes, I remember old Flitty well. But being able to dilute the spell with the solution means custom treatment based on the case. Your mother is stable because of your contribution alone."

"Well, that is..." Hermione felt as if the air had been accio'd from her lungs.

"Absolute brilliance," the Junior Healer finished for her. "Really, Miss Granger, we're all rather grateful." Slight tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. She'd done an unforgivable thing, she knew, in obliviating her parents. It had been for their own good and yet, it could've been as easy as killing them. Hermione hadn't known that Muggles never returned from obliviation until she had told Flitwick her true intentions in developing the cure. She'd posed it as a hypothetical, and he'd dismissed it as a grave, but a somewhat funny joke. But, it had actually worked. It had  _ worked _ , on her father, and it was going to work again on her mother.

"It's all a matter of time now before your mother comes around, and we don't know when that'll be. She was hovering around the mid-1970s before we shut her down, and she's still Wilkins, of course, but we'll continue working on it."

"That's... that's wonderful news."

"She's not out of the woods, yet. Still critical, still watched throughout the day and night. But you've created something remarkable, and it hasn't let us down yet." Healer Matthias cleared his throat and set his hand upon the handle to the Granger door. "Now your father, that's a different story. He's awake, and he's cognizant of his surroundings and situation. We've explained where he is and how, but not who or why. He's the picture of health, but confused and frightened." Hermione's heart clenched painfully. "I'm sure he'll be very glad to see you."

"Alright," She said, feeling a bit of the confidence she'd lacked upon arriving. The thoughts still ran on a ticker behind her eyes: he'll hate me, he'll hate me, he'll hate me. She forced them from her mind. "I'm ready."

Healer Mattias turned the handle and the door swung inward. Hermione's shoes clacked against the gleaming floor until she hit the threshold, where they were muted by carpet. The room was lovely, a cozy hotel room swatched in calm blue and beige tones. It looked across the city as if the room itself were one of the cars on the London Eye. Richard Granger stood at the window, hands in the pocket of his slacks but barefoot.

"Mister Granger, there's a visitor for you," spoke Junior Healer Danvers from behind her. Mr. Granger didn't turn, instead huffing a dismissive sort of laugh and continued observing the outside world.

"Dad?" Hermione stood hesitant in the doorway. She watched as the muscles in her father's neck tightened, his shoulders tensed, and felt a shock of worry that he'd forgotten her again. "Dad..." she tried again.

"Hermione," he spoke in a calm tone. "I want you to get your mother and lead us out of here." He still hadn't turned around.

"Oh," She bit her lip anxiously. "I'm afraid I can't do that yet? The hea- the  _ doctors _ have a few more things they need to ... test for. But, I'm here Dad. I-I've missed you so much."

Richard Granger snorted. "Clearly, since you'd taken it upon yourself to do the one thing you swore you never would."

"A-and what's that?" Hermione took a tentative step into the room. She'd hardly set her foot down when her father turned and locked his gaze onto hers. His face was set in sharp, harsh lines, so unlike the father, she'd known in her childhood.

"You promised you'd never leave us behind for them. That whatever happened, we'd face it as a family. Tell me, who  _ oblivious- _ ed us, Hermione?"

"Oblivi _ ate _ ." It came out of her mouth like a reflex. "I-I obliviated you. I'm so sorry. I didn't want them to ever find you, I-I couldn't... Dad, you don't know what's even happened since I last saw you."

"Really? I saw you yesterday, you've been home from school all but a week. We've been to see the new Jane Eyre last night."

"I'm so sorry." Hermione felt wet drip past her chin onto her neck and wasn't surprised that she'd begun to cry.

"Tell that to your mother." Richard drew a hand from his pockets to point an accusatory finger in her direction. "You never even gave us a choice. All because you're magic doesn't mean you had the right to disinherit yourself.  _ We have a witch in the family!  _ Bloody brilliant, what will she do to us next?" He turned around, bracing himself against the windowsill. "Beautiful day to learn that my daughter would rather we never knew her. I can see all the way to Buckingham Palace from here."

As she choked back tears, Hermione wondered if he knew it was fake.

* * *

“Hermione.”

Fred had been observing the sleeping woman for several hours. She never enjoyed sleeping in late before. Ever since her father regained his memories, Hermione had created a ritual of sleeping until noon the morning after visiting him. If Fred was being honest, it felt like a replacement, of sorts, for her bridge.  _ Their _ bridge, if he wanted to be a little presumptuous. Since leaving the Burrow, Hermione hadn’t had much need to visit her bridge. At least not for the same reasons that used to take her through the grass and into the woods. No longer were there questions for Hermione at Sunday dinners about what she would be doing  _ next _ in life. Or,  _ who _ she would be doing next in life, seeing as everybody knew the answer (and he was usually sitting across from her playing footsie).

Hermione regularly joked with Fred that he was but a distraction piece, and  _ absolutely _ nothing more. Molly never asked about the Grangers. Fred had heard from Ron that when he and Hermione had floo'd to St. Mungo's, Harry had made a big to-do about giving her space. Fred usually had nothing bad to say about his family but he couldn’t hide that they often lacked the keen skill of employing tact in conversation. Harry helped with that. All in all, it had been some time since Hermione had been to her bridge, and Fred felt rather sorry for that. He knew how much she enjoyed the outings, solitary or together, and how at peace the gurgling brook made her feel. So, whenever Hermione visited her parents, Fred was always there to take care of her if she needed it.

“Hermione, love…” It was time for her to get up now, and head over to his parent's house for supper. It was two pm on a Wednesday, Hermione had gone to bed late the previous evening, and there wouldn’t be much fuss today. It would only be his parents and the two of them.

Beneath a bushel of curls, Hermione stirred. “Good morning,” she mumbled through a yawn, squirming into a long stretch across the bed. She almost pushed Fred from his perch by her side as she flexed.

“Darling, I’m afraid morning has come and gone.”

Hermione dragged herself into a sitting position, one hand gripping Fred’s bicep for support. She yawned once more. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.”

“Oh,” she wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Well, I’m up.”

“Tea?”

“Coffee, please.”

Fred made a retching sound with a smile on his face and patted Hermione’s knee. With a promise to return soon, he fled her bedroom in favour of the kitchen and started the kettle on the stove. Hermione’s poison on these mornings was not a nice breakfast cuppa, but a vile quick-serve of instant coffee. Fred couldn’t understand how she stomached it. With only a slight grimace, he spooned some Gold Blend into a mug, and when the water boiled poured that in, too. Then, he went to the refrigerator to retrieve the milk and vanilla syrup she liked so much. It took a sip for him to confirm, but Fred felt he'd done it right. " _ The colour of salted caramel" _ , she had described when making it in front of him for the first time.

Hermione had gotten up and made her bed in the time it took him to make her instant coffee. Now, she traipsed around in nothing but cotton boyshorts and one of his nicer button-downs that he wore to work. “Ah, my elixir of life!” She exclaimed, taking the mug from him and enjoying a sip. “Perfect.”

Fred had never considered himself much of a sap in school. He’d never considered himself altogether generous or caring either, George fulfilled that quota. In his early adulthood, during the war and after, Fred had found relative joy in caring for those around him. Not that he often made them aware of how many minute details he'd stored away in his memory for the right time, of course. He’d sworn never to reveal this to his siblings or else risk accusation of trying to pass as George again. (A tradition they had, unfortunately, had to abandon after he’d lost the ear. It was all too easy to tell them apart, now). But, for Hermione? He wasn’t so cautious about hiding this side. It was a pleasure to care for her, and he thought she rather deserved it, too.

Hermione had taken care of Ron and Harry, and the wizarding world for so long, and asked for very little in return. She was the life-long mum of her friend group. Even at Hogwarts, Fred had seen how she never expected anybody to turn around and care for her in the same way. Back then, he had admired her for it. He’d thought it was the mark of a strong witch, someone who never had to rely on another, someone untouched by the cruelty of the world. Fred had come to understand that it was a tragedy that there had been nobody looking out for her in the same way she looked out for others. And then, he’d discovered what had happened to her parents, and realized she was at a disadvantage. Fred shrewdly planted the seeds in Ron’s mind to convince Molly that Hermione needed a mum better than the rest of them. It was presumptuous, but Fred couldn’t imagine what it would be like without his mum or dad, or his extensive list of siblings. He only wanted her to feel like she was a Weasley after all.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, pulling on the jumper he’d left draped over the radiator last night. It wasn’t one of his mum’s, but it was warm and reminded him of the charms that she often wove into the knitting. “Sounded a bit like you were speaking to me in your sleep.”

His girlfriend flushed and turned away from him, becoming interested in the small box of jewellery atop her nightstands. Fred knew this was peculiar, but didn’t want to rush her, so he sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled his socks back on.

“I slept alright. There were a few… funny dreams.”

“Funny ha-ha or funny strange?”

“Definitely not ha-ha.” Hermione said. This wasn’t particularly strange, he knew. It was a few weeks since she’d received word from St. Mungo’s about her parents. Some memories that she’d done very well taming in her therapy sessions had unwillingly resurfaced. “I… No, nevermind it’s stupid.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.”

“Yes, Fred it is.” She rolled her eyes and sat next to him on the bed, having found a pair of earrings she wanted to wear. Hermione wasn’t dressed, nor had she washed her face as she usually did, but Fred wasn’t going to comment on that. She sighed and turned to him as she slipped the back piece on the little silver bauble she’d put into her ear. “Last night I dreamt I’d forgotten my name.”

Hermione said it so calmly, so uninterestingly, that for a moment Fred convinced himself that she wasn’t put off by the dream. Forgetting one’s name wasn’t altogether strange in dreams, he reasoned. Sometimes, your dreamland sweeps you away to another place altogether and you’re neither who you were before nor who you’ve ever been in your mind. But, there was a curious gleam in his witch’s eye that he’d rarely seen there before. He’d seen it that night when they’d fought in the icy frost outside of the Burrow. He’d seen it in the hospital room the first time she’d read to him. He'd seen it again as she prepared to enter the hospital room where her father waited patiently for her.  _ She's scared _ . Of a dream?

“And did you remember it?” Fred asked timidly.

“Of course I did, I didn’t wake up with selective amnesia.” She inhaled sharply through her nose and stood up, unbuttoning her shirt and shrugging it off. "Honestly, Fred.” His button-down dropped to the floor. Something felt wrong, and it wasn’t that Hermione was standing half-naked in front of him and they weren’t making any moves to return to bed.

“Hey, now, none of that.” He cautioned, standing to meet her. They’d never squabbled over much since they’d begun dating, but what she was saying now felt like dangerous new territory. She was hotheaded, sure. E _ verybody _ who had ever encountered her in Hogwarts uniform knew that fact like the back of their hand. But she rarely lashed out at her family any more, and Fred thought he was included in that.

“None of what? I’m  _ fine _ . Right as rain!” Hermione rifled in her closet, shoving her few dresses back and forth until she gave up. Pulling out her favourite pale blue sweater from her dresser, she heaved a sigh, forcefully willing the tension to leave her shoulders. “I apologize, I don’t mean to act like a harpy.”

“S’alright.” He twirled his wand between his fingers, an anxious habit. “Take it out on the pillows next time, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She fished out a bra from her top drawer and fastened it deftly. Fred would never quite understand how she did it. The other women he’d slept with had always hooked them around the front and turned it around. Whereas Hermione was all in: straps first, fastening with one hand behind her back like some sort of super-human being. The clasp snapped against her skin as she let go. “It’s all so wrong, is all.” He cringed at the sound of her voice, breaking apart like a piece of wet paper.

She was rightfully upset, of course. Her father hadn’t taken particularly well to regaining his memories in some strange place with a whole lot of strange people around him. Hermione had borne the brunt of his emotional recoil. Richard Granger was always, in Fred’s understanding, the parent of Hermione’s that enjoyed her world. As Arthur Weasley had become enamoured with muggle life, so too was Richard with wizarding life. The first time he’d met her parents was in Diagon Alley back in his fourth year. Richard and Jean were leaning over the self-stirring cauldrons and curiously remarking whether they served the same purpose as something called a  _ slow cooker _ . Their dads had spent a large amount of time trading thoughts and comparisons on what wizards and muggles did  _ similarly.  _ Their interaction had been all his dad talked about for days. All in all, Fred had seen that Hermione’s parents were largely thrilled to have a witch in the family, if not somewhat apprehensive. He’d never expected to see her emerge from Richard Granger’s hospital room silent, resigned, and ready to melt into a puddle of nothingness.

“I thought I’d forgotten what I was called. All I could remember was ‘ _ brightest witch of her age’ _ , ‘ _ golden girl’ _ . I stood there in the dream, naked and cold and surrounded by mirrors and… All I could think was,” Hermione took a shuddering breath. “What do I call myself? What if I don’t have my own name?” 

Fred wrapped his arms around her waist and she slipped around inside them until she was facing him. Hermione buried her face in his chest, feeling the scratch of the wool against her face. “Everything I’ve ever been called is because somebody else decided to call me that,” she murmured, “it’s impossible living up to the standards they set on my behalf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate your kudos and comments! They keep me writing.


	17. Part of you, invisible to anyone else.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts rolls around as it does every year, only to be met with familiar waves of sorrow and strife. Easy comparisons are made, but not all of them are accepted.

Harry Potter stood behind the Headmistress’ podium in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.  In the crowd before him stood the students who roamed those hallowed halls, enrobed in traditional uniform fare and mixed between the house tables at random.  Interspersed across the young academics were members of adult wizarding society, most sitting at their former house tables. All had their heads bowed in remembrance.  Nobody sat at the head table, the professor's table, rather it stood alone, lined with photographs and memories of those lost in the war.  Harry did not fidget or shift as he stood, stoic, silent, still in shock from what had transpired four years ago that day.

It was May 2nd, 2002.

“In the forest, I  was greeted by the faces of the family I never got to have,” Harry broke the silence with a choked sob. He did not cry, but the lump grew ever larger in his throat as he spoke. “And I won’t lie to you, every step I took made me want to turn back. I am not a perfect hero. There were times I felt like I was abandoning you. There were times I felt like I was wronging you.  And I  willingly walked to my own death not because I wanted to become this great martyr, not because I felt I deserved it, and not because it was the noble thing to do. In some manner it felt like taking the easy way out. I am no better than the fallen heroes of the war. The Fallen Fifty deserve their names spoken, not once a year on this anniversary but every day.  I think of them, and of others, I both knew and never knew who passed at the hand of dark magicke.  I think of them in the morning when I catch the tail end of sunrise over the Black Lake.  I think of them in the evening, watching my students catch up on their day with their friends, their siblings…  I think of them on the weekends when I am at home and watching my fiancée dance in the living room to the Weird Sisters.  I think of them in Diagon Alley in August when I peer into the window of Ollivanders and see first first-year students as their wand chooses them for the first time.  I think of them. And I’d like to speak of them, too.”

Harry took a shuddering breath and pulled a piece of folded parchment from his cloak pocket.  It was well worn like it had lived in the pocket and worked between finger and thumb subconsciously for months on end. He never opened it, but he held it tightly as he spoke.

“I’ll start with Cedric Diggory. Who, I can’t believe, was much younger than I am now. He was a brave, kind, and generous friend.  Had nobody interfered with the tournament, he would have not only been Hogwart’s champion but the Triwizard Champion as well .” From somewhere in the crowd, Cho Chang stifled a sob.

Hermione, sitting between Ron and the Chosen One's empty chair, reached out and gripped her ginger friend’s hand fiercely as Harry continued.  She looked to Ron, her jaw clenched and lips pursed to keep the tears at bay only a moment longer and saw her expression mirrored in his. He raised his eyebrows and nodded at her, crushing her fingers in his hand. Hermione let him do it. It felt as if they were floating together, nothing to ground them to the future they’d grown into.  Hearing Harry speak about Amelia Bones, who had died at the hand of Lord Voldemort shortly after their sixth year, made Hermione feel small again.  The gaping hole in her chest left by the atrocities she’d faced grew larger and larger as he spoke about Hannah Abbott’s mother, then Emmeline Vance, then her old Muggle Studies teacher Charity Burbage. It was altogether too much to handle and Hermione felt hot tears slip down her cheeks.

“Lasted longer than last year,” Ron leaned into her and whispered, a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips. It wasn’t meant to be so serious, but he was right. The previous year, Hermione hadn’t gotten past the moment of silence.

“–and Sirius Black.  My…” Harry stopped, face contorting in pain before sucking in a breath through his nose and continuing with a braver face. “My godfather. One of my father’s best mates.  The first family figure I ever had, who died protecting me in a battle deep within the Department of Mysteries.  Who, because of the corruption within the Ministry,  wrongfully  spent twelve years in Azkaban for the murders of his best friends, my parents  .”  Beside Hermione, Ginny had her robes gathered in her fists, willing herself not to run onstage to comfort her fiancé.

Harry continued, speaking about the wandmaker Mykew Gregorovitch and his family. About Bathilda Bagshot, Bogrod and Griphook, Florean Fortescue, and Rufus Scrimgeour.  Ted Tonks, Jacob Erland, Jennifer Winston, Joe Laurie, Joshua Flexon, and others that Hermione had first recognized as names off the missing person’s list from Potterwatch. This year, there were new names. Names that weren't confirmed until after the previous anniversary. Names like–

“Gellert Grindelwald.” A small gasp went up through the hall. “Whose passing I was only recently able to confirm.  From one of the most notorious wizards of all time to the next, Voldemort murdered him in Nurmengard on the hunt for what amounted to nothing but a myth  .” Next to her, Ron let out a tiny wry chuckle, drawing Harry’s attention for a split second. The public story was that the Deathly Hallows had always been a great joke, and nothing more than legend.  Harry regained his attention and continued, “For a time the most formidable dark wizard to ever live, Grindelwald was also bested by the only wizard that Voldemort was ever truly afraid of: Albus Dumbledore.

“Albus Dumbledore, who I knew as my Headmaster and Professor, who helped me through the horrors I faced as a child.  Who fought throughout his life to be able to live peacefully and teach the next generation of remarkable witches and wizards. Who nevertheless put the weight of our world’s responsibility on my shoulders when he died. Who died of his own volition at the hands of his most faithful servant and spy, Severus Snape.” Harry took a moment, looking up to the Great Hall’s tall ceiling that was empty of the day’s sky.  “Severus Snape who was also my professor, the adversary of my father while they were at school, the first magical friend of my mother’s.” He left it there, and whether the rest of the crowd was confused  Hermione knew Harry didn’t care.

The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice continued to name the fallen and tell their stories, and when he came to the losses on the day of the battle it was like the entire hall had stopped the fight only minutes ago.  He spoke fondly of Colin Creevy and Lavender Brown, and of Rose Zeller who had died as the seventh-floor corridor had fallen in after Percy redirected the force of the explosion that had crushed Fred’s legs.  Ten feet to their left was where Fred had almost died, laid out on a stretcher and coming in and out of consciousness before being whisked away. Hermione’s chest felt like it was about to cave in. The entire Weasley family sat in the row behind herself, Ron, and Harry.  Sat in the seat immediately to her back, Hermione knew Fred and George were holding each other in a tight embrace.

“Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks died within minutes of each other. She would kill me if she’d heard me say her whole name like that.” A small chuckle rippled throughout the crowd from those who’d known her. “Remus was the best uncle I could have asked for, the best professor, the best role model. He was deeply protective of those he loved, and Tonks was simply the biggest riot anyone knew. They left behind a newborn son named Teddy, for her father, who turned four this year.”  Andromeda smiled up at Harry from her seat at the Slytherin table, having left Teddy with Narcissa and Draco for the day (who had come a  surprisingly long way, though were only allowed out of their program with intense supervision, which they had droves of on this day).

“Finally, I would like to speak about one more name. I have never spoken his true name in this company before, but it is important to begin this tradition. You might not agree with me, you might go home and curse my name, but the final casualty of the Battle of Hogwarts belonged to Tom Riddle Jr, a man without love and care. A man who, at the end of his life, was no less human than any of us gathered today.  I do not mention him to hurt or to harm, but to remind everyone of the dire consequences that come out of withholding our love, our generosity, our forgiveness. Tom Riddle Jr. was irredeemable in the end, but he wasn’t always. He was an orphan who found his first home right here, at Hogwarts. So was I.”

The room found itself held taut between what Harry was saying and what Voldemort had done to them.  Hermione and Ron leaned closer together, having been through hours of discussions with their best friend about whether the world was ready to be reminded of Riddle’s before times.

“The utter humanity that possessed Tom Riddle is the same that possesses all of us. It is how we choose to treat others that defines what kind of witch or wizard we become.  He was always searching for what made him powerful above all else, thinking love to be a trivial excuse for weakness. But what Tom Riddle never understood is that love is powerful. The reason he was defeated the first time is that his killing curse rebounded off of my mother’s love for me. In the forest, after he cast the curse he thought would seal the war, I survived yet again.  The reason I was never discovered, the reason I lived long enough to meet him in battle for a final time is because of another mother willing to risk it all to save her son she had no idea had survived. The reason Tom Riddle was defeated for a second time was once again because of love. It is not our capacity for great emotion that makes us weak, but that makes us strong. The love we feel that allows us to be good, to be just, to be kind. There is magicke in being vulnerable to loving someone. It is our love for the fallen that keep them beside us. It is the love for each other that strengthens our community. And on the third anniversary of the death of Tom Riddle, I hope it is love that helps us heal and repair.”

Harry slipped the well-worn note back into his pocket and, like it were second nature, rubbed at his scar. It didn’t hurt and hadn’t since this day four years ago

* * *

“Are you alright?” Hermione wound her arms around Fred’s midsection, surprising him.  He stumbled backwards against her,  nearly falling back and pinning her against the grass by the side of the lake. It was never a good sign when he was so startled he went off-kilter plum-coloured.

“Hermione!” His voice betrayed no sense of ill-ease. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“That was the idea of it, you absolute prat.”Fred heaved his arm behind her neck.  She wore a plum-coloured pashmina over her shoulders, it was woven through with little silvery threads that glinted in the midday sun as he pulled her close. Hermione leant against him, closing her eyes.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Fred spoke.  Somewhere across the lake, a bird squawked and it echoed across the water like skipping stones. “Four years ago we could hardly see across the smoke and now it’s a clear day. Like nothing ever happened here.”

Hermione hummed, seeing flashes of spell-light on the inside of her eyelids. If she was being quite honest, she hardly remembered the battle.  One second she was arriving in the Room of  Requirement and the next she was clutching Ginny as they watched Fred seize and convulse on the ground.  She was kissing Ron and then watching Hagrid carry Harry’s lifeless body into the courtyard behind Voldemort. It hadn’t been until dusk had fallen that evening that Hermione even realized what had happened.  It hadn’t been until the leaves began to fall in September that she’d realized Voldemort was actually dead this time.

“Everything happened here, of course.”

She opened her eyes to peer up at him. Observing her boyfriend now, Hermione would have never guessed his reputation at school.  Fred watched the giant squid dance about below the lake’s surface with a serenity that she’d rarely seen him inhabit.  He was unconsciously favouring one leg, judging by how he was leaning against her side, throwing her painfully back into his recovery days.

“You’re right,” she decided, following his gaze across the water. “The war overtook everything in its path…”

“Not just that. This is where George and I started Wheeze’s. This is where you and your lot became best friends. What’s a petrification here or there when this is where you made out with Krum under the Winter stars, hmm?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I never made out with Viktor.” Fred shoved her to the side playfully but she clung on. “He was far too enthusiastic with his tongue.” Her boyfriend spluttered and Hermione’s laugh rang out in peals. The squawking bird took flight in search of another perch, far away from the pair.

They settled back into a comfortable silence, huddled together in the warming air. At the far end of the lake, dark clouds had begun to peak over the horizon. It seemed it would be raining for the ball that evening

“What did you think of wonderboy’s speech?”

“ _Harry_ ’s speech was touching as always. When did he become such a good public speaker?" Hermione laid her head against Fred's shoulder, "When did that angsty boy grow up?"

"You're not even a year older than he is."

"But I'm right." He squeezed her shoulder lightly and grinned. "As you usually are."

"I only wonder what people will say about the ending. He had the forethought to vet it with Ron and me, but I don’t know… He needed it, to get the name off his chest.” Hermione shrugged. “He was never afraid of his name, y’know? Remember how it was always Voldemort this, Voldemort that?”  Fred nodded, recalling the fury that had risen in his chest when he’d learned they’d hardly managed to warn the trio of the taboo and Harry had gone and let his temper get the better of him. “  I think he always had a little bit of a problem with calling him Tom. But that’s all he was in the end so…"

“It’s fitting.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I liked it.  Ultimately there is no difference between ‘Voldemort’ and ‘Tom Riddle’, but  I think you’re right. One sounds indomitable and the other is,  simply  put, human.” Fred’s thumb traced circles on Hermione’s shoulder as he spoke. “A wizard can only be so fearsome. Nobody is ever undefeated.” Hermione hummed in agreement and shifted her shawl tighter across her arms.

“It actually made me think about… me. And my mum and dad.” Fred tipped his head in her direction but said nothing. “A name is just a reputation, nothing more. Would Tom Riddle Jr. have been as terrifying? Would  just  Hermione Granger sell as many copies of the prophet?”

Fred’s lips curled into a disgusted snarl. “Don’t compare yourself to–”

“–The Darkest Wizard of Our Time?  I think  as the Brightest Witch of Her Age  I might  have the right.” A wry smile quirked the corners of Hermione’s mouth upwards. “He and I  probably weren't so different at school in those early years. Hungry to prove ourselves, willing to sacrifice to do so. ‘Course I wasn’t murdering other kids on my summer hols.” Her ginger shook his head and Hermione couldn’t tell if he was cross with her or not. It was a fair observation, she thought, and she had a point to it. Beside her, he seemed to stiffen as they stood together, still huddled. Fred sighed, rather dramatically if Hermione was being honest, and tutted slightly. For all her positives, it was a rather haunting mimic of Molly Weasley's unnerving side.

"What?" Fred said nothing, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows in such a familiarly Weasley way of getting out of arguments. "No, seriously. What's your problem?" He did it again, this time choosing a noncommital sound to accompany the look. Oh, how she _hated_ when the lot of them did that.

“Look, Fred, all I mean is that even the name he gave himself didn’t automatically achieve all he wanted. That’s it.”

“So, what? You’re chuffed that your nickname is The Golden Girl now? I’m sorry, Hermione, not quite keeping up with you here.” Fred unwound his arm from around her to scrub at the back of his neck with his palm.  “Look I’m glad you’ve sorted the dream but I’m  really  not in the mood to hear my girlfriend call herself contemporaries with You-Know-Who right now .”

The absence of his touch made Hermione feel raw like a cold draft had slipped in through a door and under her skin.  On this day of all days tensions were always high, emotions always ready to bubble over and drip down the side of the cauldron.  The sky continued to darken with rain clouds, and soon enough there was a chilly gust coming from across the water.

“Why are you cross with me for making an observation?”

“I’m not cross with you for–” He ran a hand through his hair.  “Bloody hell, Hermione, not all of us are so comfortable talking 'bout You-Know-Who like he’s a fucking academic discussion to be had. _Who’ll be playing devil’s advocate today?_ ” He mocked in a spot-on impression of Professor McGonagall. “ _Oh, Hermione will? Well go on, dear, give us a thesis on how if Riddle had chosen to call himself Dandelion he wouldn’t have grown up to be a racist mass-murderer!_”

Before she could stop herself, Hermione’s palm made sharp contact with Fred’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure this was the most interesting chapter to read, but I needed to write it and the story needed to release it. Sometimes the words come up on their own accord, and it feels wrong to delete them even if they don't make the most engaging content. 
> 
> If this wasn't your cup of tea, I apologize, we'll be back on classic Changing drama next chapter, as you can tell! 
> 
> Leave a kudos and a comment, you know how I love them!


	18. Only ever got me hurt, and I finally learned–

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione may or may not be developing a cold after a late-night dip, and her boys come to get down to the bottom of what happened on the anniversary (with food! The quickest way to any girl's heart).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever to start and then I ended up writing it all in about an hour. I usually wait until the next morning to proofread, but tonight I'm going to publish and proofread tomorrow. I wanted to get this up for you guys because I know you've been waiting patiently!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The wind howled as it ripped between boughs and tore leaves from limb. High in the heavens, a crack of lightning illuminated the pounding rain, casting long shadows across the field and whipping the fronds to and fro. Amidst the other splotches of black that streaked across the land, a figure fought its way against the gale, slipping in between the gaps of moonlight that occasionally breached the ceiling of cloud. The swamp had well and truly flooded over, the throughway filled with muddy water completely disguising the slick cobblestones that lay half-buried. The figure did not slip on the hidden path, striding expertly through the wet until the forest met them and the ground rose to accommodate its roots.

A great crack sounded overhead and soon enough a ripple of grey light illuminated the scene, laying the forest at the figure’s feet. The gurgling stream was a veritable river now, overflowing onto the bank and making headway at washing away the ferns that lived there. The bridge stood as it always had, firmly rooted to its spot despite the pools of murky water that lapped at its sides. As quickly as the light described the scene, it disappeared. It was pitch black under the spring canopy. The figure removed her cloak, letting it drop into a pile of ferns a meter from the waterway’s new bank. If it got muddied? Well, that’s what magic was for. 

The next great  _ crack _ ! illuminated her curly hair, rising like a halo around her head as the wind tore back and forth. If there had been light enough to see, one might have noticed that the woman’s arms and legs were bare, just as she wore no shoes. Without hesitation, she forewent the bridge altogether and waded into the raging flood. The water did it’s best to try and drag her down, but the figure held steady and turned her head to the sky. If there had been moonlight, one might have noticed how her chest heaved erratically. If it had been clear, one might have noticed the rain on her cheek leaking not from above, but from her eyes. 

The figure stretched her fingers wide and felt her magic flow down from her heart into their tips. Her wand was nowhere to be seen, left in the discarded pile on the wet forest floor. With a single gasping breath, the woman channelled her core into a tight ball at the centre of her sternum.

When the sky filled with grey light again, the energy exploded. If someone had been there to witness it, they would have seen Hermione Granger up to her waist in the river, hands outstretched and eyes screwed shut. They would have heard the rage in her scream. They would have seen how the river, the rain, the lightning just… stopped. At her command. 

As quickly as she came, Hermione stepped out of the river and picked up her cloak. Only when she had spun on her heel and,  _ pop!,  _ disappeared from the forest did the rain begin to fall once more.

* * *

“Hermione? Hermione, come  _ on _ I know you’re in there.” 

The knocking stopped. She’d silenced it. 

“Hermione, I only want to make sure you’re alright.”

It moved to the window, and she silenced that, too.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean whatever he said.” 

Hermione lazily turned the page in the book she was reading (Henry James,  _ The Portrait of a Lady _ ) and ignored whoever it was accosting her flat. She sniffed slightly, she’d been out in the rain too long.

“Hermione  _ please _ .” The doorbell’s buzzing started. Hermione silenced that, too. 

“Ron, are you a wizard or not? Go on, it’s first-year spellwork just unlock the door.”

“Y’know I resent that. You don’t think she’s changed the warding?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. He wasn’t  _ wrong _ . She turned another page. 

“Hermione, we brought you something to eat. C’mon, let us in. I’d like to continue the tradition of definitely  _ not _ ignoring all of our problems together.” 

The promise of food  _ did _ excite her. She hadn’t had the chance to nip out to Tesco in a few days and was running dangerously low on bits and bobs to snack on. Slipping a bookmark in and setting the novel aside, Hermione took a moment to consider her options. Ultimately, her stomach won out. 

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed as the door finally swung open. As soon as the relief to see her found itself written across his face it was replaced by confusion. “Are you going out?”

Hermione screwed up her face and looked down at herself before replying “why would you think I was going out?” 

“You’re dressed.”

“Well spotted. It’s one in the afternoon, why wouldn’t I be dressed?”

“Because you broke up with Fred?” 

“Harry, subtle as always.” Hermione turned on her heel and stalked back into her flat. “You can follow me, y’know.” 

“Did you not break up with Fred? Because he said–” 

“I don’t really care what he said, Ron.” Hermione fell back onto her couch and waved at the boys to join her. Harry was carrying something that smelled curiously like curry. Her stomach rumbled. “Especially since I never said anything like that.” Harry settled comfortably by her side and even when she made a surprise attempt to grab the takeaway bag from him he managed to hold it out of reach.

“The anniversary drags up the worst in everyone. What did you say?” Harry’s green eyes bore into her own brown ones.

“I didn’t say anything!” Harry scoffed. “I didn’t!” Hermione insisted. “He made fun of me, with a rather impressive impression of McGonagall to his credit, and I… I hit him, I suppose.” This time Hermione was successful in getting to the takeaway. It  _ was _ curry. Her stomach rumbled again. “I shouldn’t have hit him, I know.”

Ron joined Hermione in pulling the cartons from the paper bag that she’d rescued from their friend’s grasp. He handed Harry one of the dishes. 

“Tosser deserved it.” The ginger declared, wrestling the plastic lid from the container. “He didn’t really compare you to Moldy Voldy, did he?” Within seconds he’d shovelled a mouthful of rice into his mouth. 

“No, I did that myself.” Hermione huffed at the affronted look on her friend’s face. “Stop  _ looking _ at me like that! You _ all  _ look at me like _ that  _ and I hate it!” She threw a clump of napkins from the bottom of the bag at his face, succeeding in wiping the look from his features. “All I was trying to say before he decided that my feelings didn’t matter was that it’s not the name you’re given that matters but the name you give  _ yourself _ .”

“Huh?” Harry’s dark eyebrows were furrowed and he seemed to chew in confusion. 

“Riddle and I. Both underestimated, neither of us fit in, then we came to Hogwarts and we found out who we could be. You too, Harry. I guess even you could say the same, Ron. When it’s simplified like that, of course. It’s not like I’m trying to say that I’m…  _ like  _ Voldemort. But when I was telling Fred about it he went off.” They’d gotten her favourite, chicken korai, and she popped a chunk of meat into her mouth like it was punctuation. “Then I spent part of the night up to my waist in a river because I didn’t know what else to do with myself.”  


“Is this about that dream you had?” Harry tilted his head to the side. “Because you know your name. You know who you are.”

“Do I really?”

“You can’t honestly be telling me this is all because you haven’t  _ found yourself _ yet or some bollocks like that.” Ron set his food down and went off in search of a drink from Hermione’s refrigerator. “Because I’m sorry, that’s rubbish. You’ve known exactly who you are since you were eleven and gave everyone who questioned that a hard time. Including me.” He found one of Fred’s favoured beers in the back and cracked it open. “You know who you are.”

“Gee, Ronald, help yourself.” Hermione stabbed one of the peppers in her dish violently. “I’m clearly unsure of all that now, aren’t I.”

“I get it.” Her dark-haired friend nodded, “I had barely been in this world ten seconds and suddenly everybody was shaking my hand and calling me a name I had never heard myself called before.”

“Exactly.”

“Although, Ron’s right too. You earned the accolades you’ve collected. You worked hard to be taken seriously and now you are. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re delusional if you think there’s nothing wrong with how I’m treated, Harry. Everyone expects me to be… Expects me to be this great…?”

“Saviour?” Harry deadpanned.

“Yes, this great saviour! Like the future of our world is entirely up to–”

“You?” Brown eyes met green and Hermione realized her mistake. “Hermione, you’re talking to the world’s foremost expert on expectations. The Minister for Magic asks me to endorse even the smallest decision out of fear the public won’t accept something that a kid like me hasn’t explicitly approved of. All because of something I did as a  _ baby _ .”

“Well, and at seventeen.”

“Years eleven through sixteen, though. Not pleasant.” Harry raked a hand through his hair. “Regardless, you’re not special, Golden Girl. And at very least they’re looking up to you. For guidance.”

“You could be me. Nobody really knows why they look up to me but they do.” Ron said cheerily like it was a consolation. “Even you two, don’t know!” His best friends laughed, “but seriously, ‘Mione, you saved the world and then saved the victims and just invented something that will help with it all,  _ again!  _ If anybody deserves what they’ve got it’s you.”

“I never asked to be a veritable celebrity, though. All I wanted was to fit in.” Hermione sighed. “This is the opposite of fitting in.”

“So, you compared yourself to Tom because you… don’t want to be the Golden Girl?”

“No!” She paused to swallow the bite she’d taken. “Well, it was at first. A reputation precedes everyone. He made sure greatness was expected of him, I made sure it’s expected of me, but the pressure just became too much. After your speech, Harry, I realized that a name is just a reputation, nothing more. I can be Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age  _ and _ Hermione Granger, full stop. It doesn’t matter what people call me, but rather who I call myself. If I dedicated my entire life to living up to their,” Hermione gestured to the curtain covered window, “version of me, then I wouldn’t be living as I should.”

The boys seemed lost. 

“If Tom Riddle Jr. had been able to feel love, to  _ embrace _ love he would have been a different person. You said that, Harry. Instead, he shoved his humanity into seven different pieces and scattered them to the wind. And nobody ever knew who he really was, underneath it all. Out of everybody, you probably came the closest. He was rotten, to the utter core, but I doubt any of his followers ever knew why he got to where he did. If I give in to the image of what the world wants to shape me into, am I not also locking my humanity away? In pursuit of a more powerful image? The image that everyone fawns all over?”

“You’re barmy, Hermione.”

“Thanks, Ron.” 

There was a deep silence following her speech. It didn’t feel right, Hermione realized. She hadn’t quite gotten to the point she’d been meaning to make. The moral of the story always seemed to evade her whenever she made out to speak it aloud. She hadn’t gotten there with Fred, and she was failing to with her boys as well. 

“I wasn’t comparing myself to Voldemort,” Hermione added suddenly and hurriedly. “I don’t think we’re contemporaries or anything like Fred said. I… Just because they call me the Brightest Witch of Her Age doesn’t mean that if I try and be what they say I am, that I’ll automatically succeed. I can be who they want me to be in their mind and who I want to be in mine and if they have a problem with that then they can bloody well lower their standards.”

Hermione sucked in a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and slumped against the back of her settee, chicken korai cooled but certainly not forgotten. 

“So… Why did you slap my brother?”

“I was angry at him for missing my point. I really shouldn’t have, I’ll apologize.”

“You didn’t dump him?”

“No, of course not.” She rolled her eyes at her redheaded friend and sniffed. Either the food’s spice was getting to her or she was coming down with a cold after the storm.

“Does  _ he _ know that?” Harry asked, unsure if he was missing something. Fred had spent the morning pacing the living room at Grimmauld Place, raving about how Hermione had lost her mind. Harry’d wondered whether or not he’d missed another milestone in his friend’s lives but when he’d seen Ginny’s face he knew she was just as lost as he was.

“Ah shit,” Hermione was nearly done with her curry and set the carton on the table with uncharacteristic disconcern. “Get out, you two.”

“What? Why?” Ron yelped as she shoved him off the couch with her feet. 

“ _ Out! _ I’ve got things to do.” 

Harry laughed at her insistence and acquiesced, dragging Ron along with him. They’d barely made it to the front door of her flat when Hermione called out to them, “and thank you for dinner!” and they heard the telltale  _ whoosh! _ of the floo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, we're nearing the end now I think! Hermione's finally beginning to come into her own. We had some Fred focused chapters coming up as well. 
> 
> Thank you to all 60+ of you who are following this story. You mean the world to me. I never thought anybody would read my little hobby. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment, I live to hear your feedback!


	19. And maybe I don't quite know what to say, but I'm learning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are set straight, and apologies go a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this one is shorter than the rest, it didn't feel natural to tack any other scenes onto it when it's really an extension of the previous chapter. I also apologize that this took me so long! It's been sitting in my "needs revision" box for almost two weeks, needed a little break from writing this plotline, I think. 
> 
> We really are coming to the end, now. I'm not sure how many chapters exactly are left, I'm going through a shift in structuring at the moment. So it might be a week or two before the next update, might be a few days, so thank you for sticking with me! I've really appreciated all of your readership and your comments! 
> 
> This is my first fic in a ridiculous amount of years (five, I believe?) and my first fic with these characters, so thank you very much for supporting my endeavour. It's really re-awakened my love for writing, I'm very grateful. 
> 
> That being said, please snuggle up with a blanket and maybe a cup of tea. It's Freddie's turn to be a little angsty.

“Fred! _Fred!_ ” 

There was a _clang!_ and a _bang!_ from somewhere downstairs and a yelp that sounded distinctly un-Georgelike. Un-Veritylike as well, though it was definitely more of her persuasion. Fred scrubbed a hand across his brow and stood, adjusting his trousers which had ridden up his calves as he’d reclined, sprawled across his couch. The flat was in disarray. In the few hours since the memorial, Fred had flung himself into re-invention as a means of distancing himself from the painful memories of old… and new. This was something that he and George usually set off to accomplish in the weeks following May 2nd. It was the time of year when there usually wasn’t a new product launching and they could take time away from the store to go over the previous year of sales and design for the future. The stock-taking always included the revamping of older products that they felt could be improved upon, the majority of which had been haphazardly spread across Fred and Ron’s living room as the former tried to piece together a million different distractions. Kicking aside an old prototype for the boxing telescope, Fred could feel the weave of the rug against his pinky toe through a hole in his sock. By the time he reached the handle of his front door, there was a thunder of footsteps ascending the stairs leading from the shop to the flat. He sprung back from the door as it opened to reveal, in all her glorious fire, his girlfriend. 

_No_ , Fred chided himself, _ex-girlfriend._

It hadn’t been pretty. Only thirty hours had passed since the rainstorm had rolled in on them as they stood on the shores of the Black Lake. She’d hit him, and sprinted back up the hill to the castle. If she’d been wearing knee-high socks Fred would’ve thought he was back at school, and that he’d done something that riled up Perfect Prefect so pleasantly she’d huffed and went to tattle. Those were the days, watching her cheeks redden and her nose scrunch up in distaste. When Fred glanced around, out of habit, to share a laugh with George and he’d laid eyes on nothing but the fog rolling in he’d been thrust back into reality. When he caught up with her again she’d been in the Great Hall chatting up Ginny and Parvati as Harry finished up speaking with some aristocrat off the Wizengamot. He’d asked if they could speak in private and though Hermione's acquiesced, she’d given him a rough time of it. All of that Gryffindor stubbornness trading itself between the two had drawn a crowd at the remembrance. Fred reckoned he had a pinkish bruise from her index finger jabbing into his chest over and over again. If he didn’t, then it was just his heart smarting. All too used to being in the spotlight, there had been an attempt to keep themselves quiet, out of respect, but the pair nevertheless served as a distraction from the grieving and drew a curious crowd. After a few more jabs and a sheen of tears crossing Hermione’s velvety brown eyes, she’d come to her senses. She’d created a circus and made herself ringmaster. Abruptly she’d given up and disappeared – back to Kensington, Fred figured.

“Fred.” Hermione’s lips curved around his name like a prayer and something inside the prankster seemed to be pulled towards her. It was almost as if he felt her magic crackling and sparking out towards his own. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He felt shaky, but she surely wouldn’t notice? 

“Fred, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you. It was _very_ wrong of me.” Hermione fiddled with the plait that fell over her shoulder. 

“Nothing I’m not used to. I can take a beating.” Fred grit his teeth together, miming smacking a bludger with his beater’s stick. He turned on his heel, intending to make his way into the kitchen and grab a drink so that he had _something_ to do with his hands when they inevitably had it out again. 

“Don’t _do_ that.” Something in her voice reminded Fred of a young Ron, begging their Mum for another sweetie.

“Hmm?” He feigned ignorance, making a point not to look at her directly. It wouldn’t do for him to see her looking like he was sure she did: self-righteous and glowing, burning like a star and too bright for him to bear. She had always been the best of them, which is why it was such a pity to Fred that she’d compared herself to the most impenetrable darkness. 

“Don’t dismiss me like that. I’m apologizing.”

“I _really_ don’t care that you hit me, Hermione.” Though he’d been gunning for a glass of Ogden’s finest when he’d sought out the kitchen, he’d ended up with a tumbler full of tap water. It was tepid. His tongue felt like cotton. Regardless of what he wanted to say, it wasn’t his business anymore. If Hermione wanted to forget that she was utterly brilliant, that wasn’t for Fred to remind her of. _She saw fit to end that, didn’t she_ , he thought bitterly. “I thought we’d be able to have an adult conversation about all this if we went south, but that’s your prerogative I guess. No harm, no foul.” The words contradicted the thoughts.

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “No harm, no foul? You can’t be serious.”

“It was a good run, we tried it, it’s over. And here I thought I’d be used to you running away from me by now.” He finished the glass. “Should have Mum knit a C on your jumper for Cinderella this year.” Okay, he was being rather petulant but Fred didn’t think that was anything unexpected of him. _Maybe now that this fantasy has ended, I can work on rebuilding my honour. Been far too peaceful lately for my liking. Haven’t turned Percy into a toad_ once _this year._ Fred jumped a little when he was dragged out of his thoughtful reverie by Hermione’s hand on his shoulder.

“Cinderella came back in the end.”

“I thought the Prince had to hunt her down by shoe size.”

Hermione shrugged. “Semantics.”

“I don’t think I know your shoe size.”

“No, but I know yours.”

“You know my shoe size?”

“Okay, I don’t. Not my point, it’s _metaphorical_.” She shook her head and pulled herself onto one of his counters. Hermione let her feet dangle as she leant towards him. “I’m not done with this if you’re not. I didn’t mean to make you think–”

“You didn’t mean to make me think I wasn’t good enough?” Fred swallowed down the disappointment. 

“I didn’t mean to make you think I wanted to end things,” Hermione clarified. “I was just saying that I needed _time_ and that I didn’t think anyone else could understand. I wasn’t– It wasn’t that I don't think you’re good enough. You _know_ how it is on the anniversary.” 

“And here we are a day later. And you’re fine? Can you explain that to me?”

“I had a bit of a self-care day and then Ron and Harry brought me something to eat. By all accounts, I _did_ have time. I never said I needed much, just to clear my head… Work through what I really meant by it all.”

“Oh, right, what you really meant by comparing yourself to one of the worst wizards of all time who, until just four years ago, wanted to wipe out your kind completely.” He stepped away from her, reeling. He could still taste the blood and dust in the air. If he closed his eyes he could still feel George’s desperate hands checking for a pulse as he lay on the floor of the great hall, shattered.

“And you’re most decidedly _good enough_ , Frederick.”

This time Fred actually managed to pour himself a stiff drink. He’d always have trouble believing that when stood next to her. It was reassuring, regardless. Sipping at the firewhiskey in his glass, the memory of ancient grit on his tongue dissolved and the ringing of the explosion began to fade. “I wish you didn’t think like that. You're _nothing_ like him,” Fred murmured softly, casting a glance in her direction.

“No, you’re right. I don’t want to be. I just want to be _me._ ” He watched Hermione rest her face in her palms out of the corner of his eye. “I’m exhausted.” 

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Yes– Well, _no_ . Nightmares.” She waved herself off. “And the river.” She sniffled. “I was right in the dream. I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know who I want to be. I don’t care about leaving behind a legacy anymore. I want to be able to _do_ things, to research new potions and spells, to explore and discover without anybody expecting me to turn water into wine.”

Fred observed his maybe-ex-girlfriend for a moment and decided that she was being honest. It still pained him that the way she’d accessed this life-altering realization was by likening herself to a mass murderer who had nearly wiped out the entire society that he claimed to be protecting, but it if worked for Hermione, Fred could make it work for himself, too. 

“I was really hurt that you didn’t take the time to hear me out.” Hermione swung herself off the counter with all the grace of Crookshanks falling off a wingchair in Gryffindor tower. “I may have overreacted, but in my defence you pushed me.” 

“You only meant it as an observation?” 

“I _really_ only meant it as an observation.”

“And you… _didn’t_ dump me?” It came out as a whisper. Hermione snuck into the sliver of space between the counter and his body, tipping her head upwards until he couldn’t avoid her gaze any more.

“Bloody hell, no.”

“Thank Merlin,” Fred tugged Hermione towards his chest and crushed her to him. “I’m sorry, too.” 

“It’s just the…” Hermione began.

“Anniversary,” the couple chorused in synch. “It does things to us that we wish it wouldn’t,” Fred pressed a kiss to her temple. As sappy as it made him seem, Fred could have sworn that as Hermione snaked her arms around his waist and returned the hug, he could see a bright glow spread throughout the meagre galley kitchen. It emanated from her and warmed him through and through where she fit against his body. 

“I know that you don’t care for it, but to me you are _golden_ , Golden Girl”

Hermione pressed into him, turning her cheek against his chest. “I can live with that.”


End file.
